


A Change in My Life

by EvilOtter



Series: Time Tumbles [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilOtter/pseuds/EvilOtter
Summary: The time for the Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games has arrived and with it a challenge to stay alive, no matter what the cost.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable names, events and locations belong to Suzanne Collins.

I’m dreaming again and it is driving me nearly mad. The dream is the same as always although I have no clue as to what it has to do with me.

In it there is a group of people all dressed alike and a girl who is obviously the leader. They are in some wooded area and arguing rather venomously among each other when it happens. There is a flash of motion between them and the girl gasps as she grabs at her upper arm. When she pulls her hand away from the limb it is red with blood from the wound.

She is still staring at it with disbelief when that same hand, still smeared with blood, suddenly reaches up to grasp her throat. Her eyes bulge nearly out of their sockets and her chest begins to heave as breathing becomes a struggle. Her mouth opens wide as if to scream and only a strangled warble comes out instead. Moments later, after attempts at breathing fail, she falls face down onto the floor of the forest.

Insane with fear, anger and likely some anticipation, her companions mill around her while also scanning the area around them for their assailant, for the person responsible for the death of their leader. Then, just as they begin to argue among themselves about who now leads, one turns and sees what he is looking for before shouting out a warning as his own weapon rises.

There is generally more to the dream, but this time it is cut short as my rather fitful sleep is interrupted.

A drop of water that has fallen from the ruined ceiling above strikes me between the eyes. I slowly open them just in time for another to join it. Angrily I reach up to wipe away the uninvited water from my face and then roll out of my already soaked bed. I glare out through a window which contains no glass panes at the torrent that is soaking the ground of District Nine.

Today is the day, I know that it is, as all citizens do. The day that all wait for and most dread, especially if they are between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Today, at two in the afternoon, it is time for the annual reaping.

Perhaps things would have been different if my father had not abandoned my mother and I at my birth. He didn’t want a daughter. After that, life was a struggle and we thought that things could not possibly get any worse, but it did. Mother got sick with the fever during the previous fall and died leaving me to fend for myself at age fourteen.

The fact that I have taken tesserae will not help my chances today. I had done what I needed to do, despite Mother’s insistence not to, to try to help her to survive. But it had all been for nothing because she lost her fight with the disease that had been determined to claim her. Now I am alone in this world.

Wearily, I walk out of the room that I sleep in, possibly for the last time and hurry to place the bucket that is full of rainwater onto the top of the stove. I cautiously feed wood into the stove through the perpetually open door that refuses to stay closed and has done so for as long as I can remember. Not for the first time I wonder if fourteen year old girls in the Capitol have to worry about stove doors that will not stay closed or waking up when rainwater falls from the ceiling of their bedroom to strike them in the face.

“Probably not,” I announce to no one, “then again, they don’t have to worry about the reaping either.

My attention turns to the coarse bread and home-made jam that will serve as my breakfast while I wait for the water to heat. I place another bucket onto the floor to catch water and then slice some of the bread before coating it with the bitter concoction that we called jam. It is hard to sweeten something without sugar. It’s all that I have, the Peacekeepers have been watching me and there has been no chance to sneak out into the woods beyond the fence to gather fruit or hunt game or wild vegetables.

One does not want to get caught on the wrong side of the fence. The punishment for it is severe regardless of age or whether you’re a boy or a girl and they LIKE to mete out punishment.

A glance at the stove tells me that the water is heating as I watch the beginnings of steam begin to rise. I’ll at least get a warm bath today. Another glance, this time at the dress reserved and prepared for today as it hangs in what used to be a closet. A tear sliding down my cheek reminds me that my mother had made the dress after sacrificing one of her own for my benefit.

The second bite of bread is chewed and swallowed as I try to put off the inevitable by dawdling. Now that it is warm enough, the water on the stove joins the rainwater in the tub and I allow the threadbare dress that I wear to slip off my skinny shoulders. It slides down my thin frame and onto the floor before I settle down into the tub to soak my naked body. As I wash hair that I have done my best to keep clean I think about the fate of the tributes from District Nine during the last Hunger Games.

The Sixty-sixth games had taken place in a desert. Nine had died in the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia. They were the lucky ones because a further five died of heat and dehydration madness in the furnace like days that followed the start. The rest had faced a long and desperate fight to the end and the winner barely crawled out of the arena. From what we all learned, he spent weeks getting medical attention before he could enjoy his winnings.

I notice that the water in the tub that I occupy is getting colder and make haste to leave it. Drying off and getting dressed is done swiftly before the Peacekeepers show up to look for stragglers.

The last thing that I want is to be hauled to the reaping without a stitch on, especially since the ceremony is broadcast for all in Panem to see. It has happened before to others and invariably that person has been selected as a tribute for their district. I don’t care about being selected, but I don’t want to stand before all Panem naked.

My hair arranged, I walk out of the house and for some reason I stop to turn around and look at it. I have never done this before and consider any possible motivation for my actions.

Do my dreams have a meaning?

My path to the reaping takes me past where my mother lies and I pause beside the rough marker that tells me where she rests. I kneel onto the wet grown and speak softly.

“I’m on my way to the reaping, Mama. I’ll stop by and tell you who gets chosen. I miss and love you.”

More water on my face, but this time from my eyes.

I rise and turn back down the path and hurry to join the crowd that is move towards the area outside the Justice Hall where the ceremony will take place. Immediately I notice how, as always, the eligible are shunted off to one side while all others take a place to watch. In some districts there is a party like atmosphere, but not in District Nine; two families will listen in anguish as the name of a loved one is called and watch in fear as that person walks up onto the stage and out of their lives, probably forever.

Many faces shine with tears today as fear fills their hearts, they could lose a young member of their family today.

I don’t have anyone to fear for me other than for myself.

The group that I have joined gathers in front of a group of tables to be checked in, it’s their way of checking for compliance with the Capitol’s mandate. I wait my turn and the prick of the needle that my finger will receive.

“Next!”

I watch as the girl ahead of me, she looks like one of the new twelve year olds, has to be herded forward by a Peacekeeper and then held for the procedure to take place.

Ignoring her plight, like she really has something to be worried about, I wait for the small squeak of pain to escape her. It comes a moment before the drop of blood soaks the place next to her name on the page of the book. She walks away shaking her hand and with tears running down her cheeks.

I step forward without being prompted and a short time later stand in the front of the line as I hold out my hand. The brief pain occurs and then my name, gender and age are displayed.

**Jessa Peaston**

**Female**

**14y/o**

The blood is dabbed onto the page and I move to take my place with the other fourteen year old girls who have already undergone the ritual bloodletting.

Most of the girls near me are clearly frightened and occasionally the sound of someone being ill reaches my ears and there is a brief movement to escape being splattered by the refuse.

Finally, the sight that we have all anticipated, and feared, takes place as she appears. I feel the beating of my heart quicken while my breathing accelerates as Melli Searson, the woman who will serve as the escort of the District Nine tributes mounts the stairs and prepares to speak to us. But, before she speaks, the screens around the square light up and we are treated to the same sermon that’s has been repeated before the reaping each year before the games. Only the number of years and the scenes of violence and brutal death change.

It finally ends and Melli takes the opportunity to speak for the first time, albeit silently.

“Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!”

The final sentence in the clip is quietly mouthed by our escort, while we who are facing the selection fear the words.

She’s saying this while the final seen in the clip plays over and over in my mind. A girl, who had looked a lot like me, lying lifeless after a sword strike. This strikes something inside me as I clearly remember when it happened.

I had been watching the games, which is mandatory, and she had been fortunate enough to live through the initial battle. She had escaped and was nearly to safety when she stumbled over a body, one who had run away and had managed to get that far before collapsing due to the arrow in his back.

She had rolled over to get back onto her feet and had screamed as she saw a figure standing over her with a sword in his hand. A moment later she was dead and her killer was lying beside her with an arrow in his back. Thus the hopes of District Nine had ended as both tributes died in that spot, one the victim of her neighbor and school classmate.

That single stroke of a sword which, in another time, would have brought cries for justice had been accepted as the natural of things.

My attention comes back to the fact that the pale hand of the woman is reaching into the bowl which contains the slips of paper on which the names of the girls present for the reaping have been written.

She almost seems to be looking directly at me and her ever present smile is filled with teeth that seem to drip with the blood of previous selections. It is in that moment of seeming eternity when all of the girls present, save one, hold their breaths as that slip of paper with the name of the chosen is unfolded.

Melli prepares to speak as my mind races with thoughts. My mother is dead, I have no food and my home is falling apart, actually threatening to smash me flat when it falls in. My world and future are filled with failure and abandonment and I do the first thing that comes to mind. Then I scream out my decision.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Startled and, in many cases, grateful heads turn in my direction as I begin the journey that until now I have feared. Now I welcome the finality of being able to take charge of what lies ahead instead of allowing fate to decide. Behind me the family of the chosen girl, whose name had never been read, will weep with happiness that their child has at least another year to live. Their daughter has been spared and now I, Jessa Peaston, face death in some arena far from my home.

Those who know me best know why I am doing this and understand why. My world is devastated and I welcome this chance to complete its destruction. I know that likely I will never return to this place except as the remains of a corpse. I’m ready for this and I stand calmly while a weeping boy takes his place beside me as the rest of District Nine sees its tributes for the Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games.

Finally we are ushered into the Justice Hall and into rooms unlike either of us have ever seen before. Of course, we are separated to forestall the possibility of a plot being formed. A plot, right, like two teens could do anything against the Capitol. A Peacekeeper speaks to me as he prepares to close the door behind me.

“You will have an hour to speak to your family.”

I gaze at him blankly, as though I had never seen a Peacekeeper before, and then respond.

“I don’t _have_ a family.”

He seems to shrug his indifference and then pulls the door close behind him as he leaves. The sudden solitude gives me a chance to examine my surroundings. I settle down into a chair more luxurious than anything that I have ever seen before or even imagined. Most people in District Nine can’t afford a basic piece of furniture and have to live with whatever they can build. As a result, most houses are filled with rather rough and primitive chairs, tables and beds.

While I sit in that chair I listen to the faintly audible crying that is going on in the next room. The family of the male tribute are doing what they can to allay their fears for his future.

 _‘Like he has a future any more than I do,’_ I think grimly.

Soon, I know, I will leave all of this behind. The rolling fields of golden grain that I enjoyed walking through will give way to the cityscape of the Capitol. That cityscape will then fade behind to reveal the arena in which I will very likely die.

Melli appears again, the door swishing open silently on well-oiled hinges, sweeps into the room. She gazes around the room, notices my solitude and the smile abates just a tiny amount.

I wonder how many times she has put on that manufactured smiled which, unlike her wigs, never changes.

“I had no idea that you would be alone,” she drones with an uncharacteristic tone. “Most of the tributes have someone to encourage them and see them off.”

“There is no one,” I barely whisper.

She seems to realize at that point what I am saying and suddenly appears to become very uncomfortable. After failing to find more to say she turns and leaves through the door that she had entered the room through. I watch as the door begins to swing open to allow her exit and hear her words clearly.

“May the odds be ever in your favor!” Melli drones out her well-rehearsed phrase

“They _are_ in my favor,” I answer sarcastically. “I’m an odds on favorite to die for the amusement of others. In fact, if I had anything to wager I would be certain to win if I could find anyone stupid enough to take the bet. But, if that were the case, please tell me just how does a dead person collect a won bet?”

She vanishes through the door without another word and I stand quietly as I consider the minor victory that I had just scored against the Capitol. I will very likely die during the games and, in fact, I intend to but I also plan on being remembered.

I cannot see it but I know that the crowd outside the Justice Hall, which had gathered for the reaping, is now dispersing. The tributes have been chosen, the spectacle is over and soon my counterpart and I will depart on the train for the Capitol. We will depart from this way of life for certain and from life itself more than likely.

I collapse back into the chair that I had risen from and proceed to pick at a loose thread that I find within the rich material. The solitude, and boredom, that surrounds me allows this activity and it is not long before I have created a rather unsightly mess on the arm of the chair. It will drive someone nearly insane when it is discovered and I smile as I think about the fact that this official, whose office I occupy and who answers to the Capitol, will be unable will do anything about my actions.  In retrospect, however, I feel just a bit guilty about what I have done. The guilt is not directed at the feelings of the official, but rather at the damage that I have done to a chair. It, like I and all other tributes, was innocent of wrongdoing and now I have punished it as surely as the Hunger Games will punish me. All that I have done in this instance is to prove that I am a fierce warrior when I face a defenseless chair.

The window near me allows me to peer out at the track where the train that will take me to the Capitol waits for its trip home. I gasp as I see the vehicle clearly for the first time. It’s not like I have never seen a train before, I have, but they are always the trains that pull the cars loaded with grain that has been processed to the factories which will produce what the Capitol wants.

Activity around the train tells me that the crew is preparing the beautiful machine for action. I know that the cars and compartments that I and my fellow tribute will occupy are being cleaned and prepared for our use. No doubt there will be food on a table for us and then we will be advised about what is expected of us before and during the games.

 _‘Expected of us,’_ I consider, _‘what sort of behavior do they expect other than fighting and dying. Am I going to get into trouble for offending someone by not dying right?’_

I move away from the window as the door opens again and a Peacekeeper enters the room after looking around suspiciously.

_‘He knows that I am alone. What is he expecting, for me to cut myself into two pieces and gang up on him?’_

“Your time is up,” he announces. “It is time to board the train for the Capitol.”

Not for the first time I wonder if the children of Peacekeepers face the reaping. I doubt that they do, for Peacekeepers are recruited from the Capitol. None of the districts are considered trustworthy enough to supply Peacekeepers, because that means letting us carry guns. They will not allow us to have bows, so they will definitely never allow us to have guns.

I follow him without needing to be led by the arm while, behind me, I hear the commotion as the male tribute has to be nearly dragged away from the clinging arms of his mother. Their wailing is maddening and I wonder if my mother would have reacted the same way as this woman.

Probably she would have as she had been intensely protective of me. She had to be, for it had been just the two of us in the house. I know for a fact that the absence of one person in the house has a very depressing effect on the other. I have cried myself to sleep more than once while in the solitude that I have become accustomed to.

The train ahead of me awaits and I carefully walk up the steps to find my way into another room the likes of which I have never seen before. Everywhere I see luxury which, in my mind, is nearly obscene. There is more money spent here in this room than is spent in all of District Nine and nothing my district can offer even comes close to this.

I round a corner and step into the main area of the car and gasp once again as I take in what I see.


	2. Chapter Two

My breath nearly escapes me as I catch my first glimpse of the interior of the car that I will travel in. Everywhere I see rich and exotic woods and luxurious fabrics. Even the Avox servants are clad in clothing that I can only dream about. My fingers reach down to run over the surface of a table near me and I am nearly mesmerized by the glass smooth surface.

I’ve never even imagined the likes of what I am seeing. How could I? I have no basis for comparison because until now my world has been compose of a leaking roof, glassless windows , and a home that could have been considered lucky had it been struck by lightning and burned down.

The sudden forward motion of the train is barely registered in my mind as I ignore the other occupants of the vehicle. I catch my last glimpse of my home as the train whispers past it, gaining speed as it moves. Never before has the structure appeared so abandoned and desolate. It is almost as if it is cognizant of the fact that soon it will be the scene of only animal life. Certainly the creatures of the land around my home will soon realize that it is safe for them to enter the place. The remnants of the loaf of coarse bread will be consumed and, sooner or later, the jar of bitter preserves will be broken and the contents devoured.

No one will visit to loot the place as there is nothing left worth stealing. The house will sit alone, unoccupied except for the animals and insects, until it falls in to be reclaimed by nature.

I settle back into a chair to watch the countryside pass, ignoring the fact that I am surrounded by more comfort than I ever thought could exist. Staring out through the window I try to ignore everything that is going on in the car around me. A sound near me makes me realize that someone has approached where I am sitting.

“Ahem!” the sound repeats.

Obviously, ignoring the intrusion into my solitude is not going to work. I finally turn my back to the window after several repetitions of the sound as the last of the memories of my homeland vanish. I look up at my interruption with as fierce a glare as I can manage.

Melli Searson looks down at me as she stands with her hands on her hips. The ever present wig is as perfectly placed as it had been on the stage at the Justice Hall for the reaping. This is despite the fact that she is wearing the second different outfit since then. The only other difference that I can see is that she has lost more of the false smile that she presented to the crowd in District Nine.

“Well,” she nearly hissed, I would think that someone such as yourself; someone who has been accorded the honor of representing her district in the games, would show a bit more enthusiasm and interest in what is happening around her!”

I feel the anger in me rise as she speaks and then answer with my own hiss.

 _“Enthusiasm?”_ I snarl. “Is that what you expect? I volunteered only because life in District Nine was becoming unbearable. I volunteered because my life could not get any worse than it was. But you would not know anything about that! You have never worried about your name being drawn or having to take tesserae to try to save your dying mother!”

“I am as good as dead and do not need lectures or advice from whatever victor from District Nine that you have dug up to encourage us to die a little more dramatically. We would not want to not entertain the people in the Capitol, now would we?”

She stares at me for a long moment and I wonder if I have amused her with my response. Then that damn fake smile reappears as she speaks.

“Well, we are in a bit of a mood, aren’t we? Arniss Mitt won the Games for District Nine several years before your birth and will be a wealth of information for you. That is, if you can decide to get over your attitude long enough to listen.”

Now I am truly angered and I fire back a response.

“Arniss Mitt is an insufferable know-it-all who has bored our district with his stories for as long as I can remember and probably longer than that!”

I am right about this statement and she knows it. The last thing that anyone from District Nine wants to do when the man is in hearing distance is to mention the games that he won. Once he thinks that someone has even a slight interest in what he was able to do he becomes a Mockingjay. He never closes his mouth and will talk for hours on end nonstop.

“You would do well to listen to him. He managed to win and came help you to do the same,” she insists.

“Fine,” I answer as I start to rise. “I will listen; it might help me live a few minutes longer once the games start.

I follow Melli into the dining area and I stop short once again as I see the vast array of food on the table. There is more food here now than I ever saw in a year at home. It looks much more edible too.

The sounds of conversation reach my ears and we come around the corner to find Arniss and Geoff Petar, the male tribute, sitting at a table as they speak. They look up as we approach and I cringe as Arniss smiles at me greasily. I had been one of his favorite people to corner for his stories and had become very adept at making excuses in order to escape. Now there is nowhere to go to get away from him.

“There you are, Jessa,” he announces as he rises to collect me in an unwanted hug. My nose wrinkles as the person who had the most in District Nine, the person who should have been the cleanest of all of us due to the fact that he had running water, held me closely and for a long time before I manage to free myself from the embrace. I knew that I had not imagined the travel of his hands as he held me, and it had not been the _first_ time that this had occurred.

“Hello, Arniss,” I manage to choke out while trying not to breathe. His breath, soured by the cheap beer that he brewed in his basement, does not smell any better than the rest of him does.

“Jessa, I have not seen you around lately. You used to come and see me when you were little,” he croons as I consider fleeing.

He was right about what he was saying, but I had not been little, I had been desperate. Arniss had what I had needed, a source of food without taking tessera and thus adding the risk that that act entailed.

Another fetid exhale nearly gags me and I try to ignore the sight of his badly stained teeth.

“I suppose that you want me to tell you how to win the games,” he finally says as he realizes with disappointment that I will not take another hug.

I shrug and suddenly find myself being steered to a chair near Geoff. He ignores me and I return the favor.

“The most important thing that you need to remember is that,” he begins, “you want the sponsors to like you. Acting like you do not care about the games or their help is the quickest way,” he adds as he shoots me a glare, “to get them to ignore you. Remember that you need their support and they want something in return for their help.”

“Help?”

Arniss looks at my male counterpart, who had interrupted him, with disgust before continuing.

“You never know what you might need to help you get further in the game or to even survive. Haven’t you been paying attention to the tributes in past games that get packages that can help them? The packages can contain anything from medicine to food. In fact, the only thing that they will not provide is weapons; you are on your own for that.”

As Arniss talks I glance at Geoff, he is intent on listening to our mentor and I suddenly fear him. I have seen him in fights with older boys and never failing to give good account of himself. If I end up in a close in fight with him I understand that I have little to no chance of winning.

“The only weapons that will be provided to the tributes are those at the very start. That is why so many tributes die in the first minutes of the game. Everyone rushes for the weapons and ignores the other survival supplies in the outer areas. Once everybody is in close and has a weapon, or is trying for one, they have a 50-50 chance of living through the first encounter. That is why after the first bloodbath at the Cornucopia normally eight to ten tributes are dead.”

I know that what he is saying is true because I have seen the desperate struggle for weapons and survival. Last year’s District Nine tributes had died in those first frantic minutes and neighbor had killed neighbor. It was quite apparent that while there might be alliances formed by tributes to get further in the Games, there was no such thing as a friend.

As I listen I begin to wonder about my desire to die and therefore my motivations for volunteering. The death of my mother had fractured my spirit and had made me willing for it to end. Now I realize that if I died that no one would remain to remember her the way that I do.

If, by some insane and improbable chance I can manage to not only survive but to win the games I can live in a style that she could have only dreamed of. It would have made her incredibly happy to know that her child would live much more comfortably.

I settle back to listen more intently as Arniss continues, inwardly anyhow, outwardly I try to appear disinterested. Geoff repeatedly sneaks glances at me and I know what he is thinking, I am going to be easy prey and swift dead meat. Arniss’ advice is making more and more sense to me and the resolve that I have to not only survive but to be the winner of the Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games grows.

The only problem is getting a weapon. An outright, full on dash to the Cornucopia is only a certain death wish. I know that the tributes from Districts One and Two, not to mention Three, trained for years in the hope that they could get the chance to compete. They see this as an honor and not something to fear. Volunteers are plentiful in those districts and they take their chances willingly at every reaping.

Although I had not noticed it, Melli had settled into a chair and is nearly spellbound by what our mentor has to say. Surely she has heard this so many times that she has it all memorized, but apparently people from the Capitol cannot get enough of the deaths of tributes.

Finally, hours later and after we have eaten, Arniss stops talking long enough for us to realize that something is happening. We look out through the huge windows that make up the walls of the car to see, in the far distance, the mountains that mark the outskirts of the Capitol are visible.

Geoff is at the windows nearly instantly with is face pressed to the highly polished glass, much to the displeasure of Mell.

“I would think that you would have better manners than that,” she chastises. “The Capitol workers spend a great deal of time making certain that these trains are spotless. They would be most distressed if they witnessed your behavior.”

I guess that my behavior must be better. I have not approached the windows because I am too stunned by what I can see to move. The scene before me is incredible and irritating at the same time. The majestic mountains, benign as they are, represent everything that the Capitol does to us, the forced obedience, the deprivation, and the deaths of innocents for the pleasure of those who watch. We in the districts cannot even turn away and refuse to watch as our friends, neighbors or loved ones battle just to survive once the Games begin.

We in the districts provide all of this for THEM! We provide everything that they take for granted, including entertainment at the cost of our lives. In many of the districts people go hungry or even starve to death while in the Capitol I imagine that food is plentiful enough that it goes to waste and is discarded when no longer wanted, even if still edible.to

I finally tear away from what I am seeing to return to my thoughts.

_‘What I have I gotten myself into and how do I get out of it in one piece? How do I face the rest of Nine if I have to kill Geoff and then manage to win this thing?’_

I am suddenly aware of yet another intrusion into my thoughts, a wordless one this time. Glancing up I see one of the female Avox servants standing next to my chair. She beckons silently and I rise to follow her down a passageway that is flanked by a series of doors. When we arrive at our destination she opens a door and I am ushered into a room such as I have never even dreamed of before. Not even the room that I occupied in the Justice Hall can compare to this and I know that I am gasping again.

Clearly this is meant for me and I do not see how. This wealth required to build and furnish this room alone would feed all of my district for two years or more. Unconsciously, I step forward and then run my hands over the fabrics which cover the bed.

She leaves the room as I open a drawer in a dresser and know that my eyes widen at the sight of the clothing within. Pulling a dress out of the drawer, I hold it up to myself and find that somehow it is just my size. I lay it aside and walk to another door where I find a room that contains what looks like a shower. I have seen them before in some of the finer homes in the district, but nothing like this one.

The showers that I have seen before have knobs or handles to control the water, but this one has buttons. I have never seen anything of the like for there are dozens of them and I wonder what all of them do.

Taking the plunge, I strip off the clothing that I had put one before the reaping and step into the enclosed area. A door closes behind me and I examine the buttons carefully. There are a few that I can understand because at least I learned to read in school. I imagine that Geoff is going to have a bit of difficulty with this as he did all that he could to avoid learning.

My first exploratory stab at a button rewards me with a blast of ice cold water that takes my breath away and I shrink back away from the stream, only to have it follow me! No matter which way I move it pursues me and I barely have time to wonder if this too will be televised for the amusement of the Capitol residents.

I finally manage to recover enough to press what looks like the right button and am rewarded with warmer water, and thick, gloopy foam that is disgusting. The aroma of it alone is enough to gag me, it is so sickeningly sweet. I have the impression of being soaked with gallons of honey and do all that I can to retreat once again. A shove at the door does nothing and I realize that it will not open until the shower is not operating. In other words, if this thing goes insane and the drains plug to the point where water cannot escape, I will drown in here because of a door that will not open.

Perhaps the Gamemakers have set up the beginnings of the games to start now. My first challenge is to avoid drowning in whatever this substance is and water. I can see myself already being televised all over Panem, naked and drowning.

Finally, a frantic shove of a button ends the deluge of goo and pure water dowses me. I manage to hit the button that warms the water to a tolerable level and begin to scrub myself clean of the muck. As I shower I think back to the last bath that I had taken in my home. Everything was likely just as I had left it, the water still in the tub and the soap that I had used sitting next to it on the stool.

Somehow, I feel just a bit sympathetic for the house in which I was born and raised. My mother had done the best that she could to raise me alone and I am certain that she had often wished that she could do more for me. But that, like my attempts to save her with the food that the tessera, had provided had been sorely lacking. She had been a wonderful parent and I could always count on being filled with her love, even when my belly was mostly empty.

The shower finally ends and I am relieved when the door opens easily to allow my escape. Another surprise awaits me as a sudden gust of air begins to dry me from head to toe and I find it rather pleasant. I am reminded of the warm breezes that blew across the fields of my home and the wonderful days when I could lay out on the grass and enjoy them. The female Avox appears and demonstrates the next wonder of the Capitol.

She is standing next to me wordlessly, as if she could do anything else, and suddenly seizes one of my hands to place it on a flat plate on the counter. I am tempted to pull free when I realize that a current has run through me and straightened the tangled mess that my hair has become. A brush next to it allows me to move my hair into my preferred manner and I look into the mirror before me, a mirror that is without cracks and utterly spotless, to see myself as never before.

A skinny, naked girl, who is obviously no more than my age stands before me and I wonder if I will be fattened up before the Games or if I will go into the arena appearing as the underweight waif that I am. Geoff, while also underweight, easily outweighs me by at least fifty pounds and I know that he could easily snap my neck. If he can do this then the well-fed Careers will be able to do much more than that if I get too close to them. At the moment, appearing as I do, I will be marked as easy prey by all of those who that see me and as one of the first to be eliminated.

I exit the bathroom and hurry to dress in what the Avox female has laid out for me. It flows down my body and soon I am surrounded by comfort as I slip into the bed and pull the blankets over me.

Sleep takes me easily, far more easily than I believed that it would, and I am soon blissfully unaware of all that goes on as the train speeds us towards the Capitol and destiny.


	3. Chapter Three

I awake the next morning and, cocooned in comfort, have to fight to get out of bed. I have never experienced this before and am not ready for it to come to an end. There cannot be many more days of this sort of treatment and I know that, once I am in the arena with the other tributes and the Games have begun, there will be no full tables of food, foaming showers or comfortable beds to sleep in. Everything that I have after that will be of my own making, and I was plenty used to that. I had lived it but I wondered how the Careers, who had already had a much easier life than I, would deal with it once they had to.

A search through the dresser provides many options, but my clothing from Nine is there, already cleaned and waiting. I slip back into it and then leave the room to return to the Dining Area. Melli is there and I can tell from the expression that crosses her face as she sees me that she had expected me to wear something that the Capitol had provided.

I settle down into a chair while I seize a biscuit and smear it with jam. An exploratory bite fills my mouth with pleasure and I have to force myself to not stuff it in all at once. Never before, except for last night, have I ever tasted anything like this. Even the wild berries that I had collected back home had nothing on these, except that they had been from home and I had not been on a train speeding towards my probable death.

A noise alerts me to the approach of Arniss and Geoff, neither look like they feel very well but Arniss looks as though he will survive. Geoff looks as though he could vomit all over everything at any moment and I hurry to give him some space. Both of them collapse into chairs at the table and I enjoy the meal that I have placed onto my plate while they struggle through theirs. The thick oatmeal that fills my bowl has been garnished with honey and berries and I savor something that I remember from home. We had at least had something comparable to this in Nine and it comforts me as I relive mornings spent with Mother as we ate our meager breakfasts.

I ignore Geoff until he suddenly rises and hurries, not to vomit, but to the windows to stare outside at what we are passing. We have entered the outskirts of the Capitol without my notice and the crowds that line the tracks straining to get their first glimpse of us, the sacrificial lambs from District Nine, cheer as they are successful and see us. They already have the beginnings of it, the blood lust that must surely infect each of them every time a reaping takes place. The people that I can see, including children, are at a near fever pitch. Only clear barriers in place to do so prevent them from being pushed onto the tracks.

I rise from my own chair to look at the only city that I have ever seen.

The crowds vanish as the train sweeps through a tunnel on its way to its final destination. We face the blank walls that are broken up only by lit panels that prevent complete darkness. Finally we sense the motion change as momentum decreases. An even larger crowd than the one that we saw before appears before us as well as the enormity of the Capitol. A sea of hands waves at us as they see us for the first time.

Geoff waves back at the crowd, almost appearing manic, while I manage a demure wave which spurs the crowd to louder cheers. A weak smile crosses my lips as I understand that these are the people who cannot wait to see me die.

The crowds vanish again as the car that we are riding in slides into another tunnel before emerging into a large chamber and finally coming to a stop.

“This is where you will stop being you,” Arniss comments dryly, “and become that they want and expect you to be. You will be taken to the Remake Center to be made into what they want to see during the games.”

“What you are saying,” I respond equally as dryly, “is that they want to see a good looking corpse.”

He glances as me and, as Melli gasps at my comment, nods grimly in agreement of my assessment of my very likely future.

The door whisks open and I can see the Peacekeepers that are waiting to escort us to our destination. Arniss will not accompany us because he is not going to be remade, which would be an incredible feat that I do not believe that even the Capitol is capable of.

Peacekeepers fall into step alongside us, as if we had ANY chance of escape, and we finally arrive at our stopping point.

I get my first look at the Remake Center as I am seized by the arm and nearly dragged to what appears to be a metal bed. I realize at that moment that it could just as likely be an autopsy table but my thoughts are interrupted. There, unmindful of my gender and that of those around me, I am stripped naked and laid back onto the table. An instant later a shower of warm water rains down on me. It is joined a moment late by suds which the attendants begin scrubbing my skin with.

Never, not even when I was a child have I been as mortified as these strangers, some of them male, proceed to wash my body. Not one square inch, regardless of location, is left untouched and embarrassment floods through me.

My hair does not escape attention and I can only lay there while my tresses are turned into a soap filled mound atop my head.

Over and over again I am scrubbed under my fingernails, between my toes, behind my ears and a myriad of other places that will never be seen by anyone. I am reminded of the very thorough baths, when I was younger, given to me by my mother as she washed things that would certainly be covered by clothing.

Once the bathing was done, the real fun begins. My eyebrows, which have never been given attention, are briskly plucked. I had never imagined pain such as this and I feel sympathy now for chickens as they were plucked but they were having this done after death and we are not dead, at least not yet. As I think about this I imagine that the machines which reap the grain are probably gentler than these people are.

This nearly unbearable torture continues as I am plucked, primped and prepared for whatever awaits me.

I manage to crane my neck and catch brief glimpses of the tributes from the other districts and I wonder just which of them will be the one to take my life.

At the moment, however, no one looks very formidable because we are all in a state of complete nudity with no concern for modesty.

A small sound to my left reveals the fact that Geoff is still undergoing a plucking and is not enjoying it. He is almost whimpering with each hair removal and I smile inwardly at his plight and wonder what, if any, advantage I will have once we are in the arena.

While I ponder how I will be able to fight, much less survive during the games, I think about the weapons that will be provided. I have never handled a sword; the largest knife that I have ever used was in a kitchen. I have no idea how to use a bow. The only thing that I could handle is a club, and that meant that I would have to get in close to any opponent, too close.

My choices, and chances, are slim and I know it. Before I can get close enough to strike I will be dead, unless I can come upon them while they are asleep or comatose. Good luck with either of these things happening.

I gasp as a final spray of water douses me and then a blast of warm air, which reminds me of the experience on the train, begins to dry the water from my skin and hair. Once again my hand is placed on a plate and I feel the current run through me to untangle my hair.

A final drop of water falls from somewhere to strike me between the eyes, bringing back the memory of how I had been awakened yesterday. It seems like an eternity ago, but only the day before I had been waking up to the water dripping through the ceiling over my bed. The attendant working on me likely sees the tear that escapes the corner of my eye and mistakes it for water from the fixture above me as she wipes it away. I know that I have to cling to these memories for as long as I breathe.

The last burst of air finishes the drying process before I am helped back to my feet and a robe is wrapped around me. I watch with horror as my clothes are picked up to be discarded and rush to their rescue.

“I want to keep those! I do not care what is provided for me, but I want to keep those. They are all that I have left of my mother and I want to keep them!” I cry out almost frantically as I guard the items.

The attendants are startled but nod their understanding.

“They will be cleaned and waiting for you in your quarters,” one of the attendants assures me.

I nod my understanding and thanks before I look around. Now I can get a better look at the others that I will face and, right now, none of them seem particularly intimidating. It’s hard to be intimidating when you are naked.

All of this will change, I know, once we are in the Training Center and ready to show what we can do. All of the desire to be the winner and animosity to others will come out.

I numbly allow myself to be led to the next station where clothing is supplied and I hurry to cover myself. This makes me feel a bit better about things and also gives me time to think.

An advantage has come to my mind and I realize that this may save my life. A glance at my clothing produces a plan that begins to congeal in my mind. I am preparing to leave this area when I realize that I am not alone and have not been for some time.

Geoff’s entry into the room interrupts my thoughts and I realize that several other tributes are also present as they too dress. They, like I, eye each other uncertainly as future opponents are sized up and examined for weaknesses or potential allies.

I step aside as others enter and wait patiently until I see Melli reappear. Geoff appears and, once again, is ignored. There is no sense in getting too friendly as we will soon be trying to kill each other. The hopes of an alliance are so dim that I refuse to even think about it. I am on my own and there is nothing that I can do about it.

We both look up as Melli approaches and then looks at us with some trepidation. Clearly she had hope for someone who would have better chances in the arena. We clearly aren’t going to impress her.

“Soon you will be fitted with your costumes for the Parade of the Tributes, the chance for all of Panem to clearly see you for the first time. This is your chance to make a good impression on them, and I hope that you will do your very best to look like you will do your very best to win.”

“The costumer for District Nine has been busy preparing for this even and has assured all that this year’s costumes will astound everyone.”

This statement worries me as past tributes have had horrid experiences with their costumes in the years before.

One year the tributes had been clad in wheat straw that had been woven into clothing with even the headdresses being made from the substance. This had come to a terrible end when a stray spark from the chariot before them had ignited one of the costumes, which set the other ablaze, and only quick action had prevented severe injury. Memories of the sight of the frantic tributes running around ablaze made me shudder.

Another year the costumes had been composed of a body suit with kernels of wheat glued to them. It had all been very nice looking, especially to the birds which had descended on the tributes to try to devour the grain. That had been almost as bad as the year that the tributes had been dressed in bib overalls with straw hats and a wheat straw to be clenched between their teeth.

What would our costumes for the Parade of the Tributes be? Would some disaster occur? What about the interview with Caesar Flickerman, what would that be like? These thoughts and others filled my mind as we follow Melli to the costuming area and our meeting with the man in charge of the costumes for our district.

Pietor Wascyk greets us at the door with a “tsk tsk” as he wrings his hands in distress. They are as pasty colored as his face and the makeup so common on the faces of people from the Capitol cannot disguise this. The pale pink of his hair does nothing to improve his appearance and his weak, almost effeminate handshake perfectly complimented his speech.

“Well, well,well, they certainly aren’t what I had expected or hoped for,” he remarks to Melli as he ignores the fact that the objects of his comments are present. “But I suppose that we will just have to do the best we can with what they have sent us.”

He casts a disapproving glance at the both of us, focusing for a long time at Geoff. A shake of his head and a final “tsk” and he turns his back on us to walk away. When we don’t keep pace with him he turns to give us his best “disappointed mother” look and then beckons us with a waggled finger.

I break out of my trance and hurry to catch up to Pietor while Geoff dawdles. Pietor sees that I have followed and manages to give me what might pass for a smirk.

“At least one of you has managed to follow non-verbal directions. That is an important ability in the games. No one is going to be there to tell you what to do and at least one of you is already in serious trouble.”

This stirs Geoff into motion, the disapproving glare more than the words. He hurries to our side and is immediately steered into a fitting area. My own attendant takes me by the arm and leads me to his work area. I find myself hoping for something other than a body suit covered with grain because that isn’t much better than nudity. Pietor arrives at the area to watch with satisfaction as I am measured and the fitting begins.

“I suppose that you are expecting to be covered with grain or dressed in wheat straw,” he simpers. “Most people in the Capitol will not forget or forgive that debacle and I certainly wish that they would.”

Now I am truly expecting to be dressed in bib overalls and sucking on a wheat straw. But that is not the plan that Pietor has for us and I am amazed at what I see when he reveals it. My mouth falls open when I see the costumes that he and his team have been working on.

A bodysuit that is black and then covered with light successive golden plates beaten to look like the grain bearing heads of the wheat stalks that I have seen back home. The effect is breathtaking and I feel my heart nearly skip a beat at its sight. District Nine will be a wondrous vision this year at the parade and I can only hope that they are not disappointed by the two of us dying right away once the games start.

Before I am dressed, I tolerate another bathing and then settle back as my hair is styled. The attendants hurry to get to work applying makeup to my face while also examining me for any errant hairs that escaped notice during the plucking. Though he is out of my sight, I know that Geoff is getting the same treatment and wonder if he is whimpering once again at the thought of more hair being ripped from his face.

I gasp as I see a flowing golden train that is to be added to my outfit. We will surely appear as the god and goddess of the harvest, the providers of the grain for all of Panem.

My face is covered with a golden hued base, my shoulder length hair is styled into a beehive of gold and my feature accented with warm colors. I watch as I vanish and some strange, unknown creature that I could never have imagined existed.

Pietor pays frequent visits and either gives glowing approval or brisk decline to the progress. I cringe when he personally takes over the application of the gold leaf to my fingernails and then relax as I barely feel his touch. Clearly he is much better at this than he was at plucking hair. When he is done with the task I realize that I have gained much for little effort.

I finally, after what seems like an eternity, am allowed to rise and I am turned to see myself in my entirety. I gaze into a full length mirror and gasp as an unfamiliar creature gazes back at me. Everywhere is golden, from the sandals on my feet to the top of my hair and tiara.

As I look at the person before me I am aware that I will look totally unfamiliar to the people back home that know me. I have become a symbol of the Capitol, a Capitol that has subjugated us, set quotas of production that we must meet, taken food that we grow as their own and demanded two sacrifices of blood and life each year for the Games. The blood flowing in the veins of this person staring back at me is not mine; but property of the Capitol and to be spilt on demand and command of President Snow.

President Snow, the despot that rules Panem through brutality and death, or the fear of it. We in the districts often wonder if working directly for him was a reprieve or a certain death ticket. It was not uncommon for one of his closest aides or advisors to suddenly die or mysteriously vanish and thus have to be replaced. The circumstances of the deaths or disappearances were closely guarded secrets and thus not revealed to anyone outside the inner circle of the leadership in the Capitol. We wondered just how much they truly knew and if Snow was the only one who had any clue to what had actually happened.

There were rumors that attempts, obviously unsuccessful, had been made on Snow’s life. Being a part of such a plot no doubt meant certain death for the one involved. But it was said that the punishment extended out to the families of any conspirators. The simple fear of the complete annihilation of one’s family for even a suspicion kept the number of plots to a minimum.

It was common knowledge that EVERYONE, from the lowliest farmer or miner to the highest official, was under constant surveillance. Informing on others was a fact of life and you never knew who was watching and hoping to curry favor by handing you over to the Peacekeepers.

My thoughts are interrupted by Pietor’s proclamation that I am ready but that Geoff is far from it. He has been less than accommodating when the makeup crew descended on him and now they are behind schedule. We need to be ready for the parade and already s huge screen shows that the seats in the Avenue of the Tributes are filling rapidly. They cannot wait to see the people that they will watch die.

They want to see US, to see the spectacle that we represent. Their first real look at all of us, decked out in glory, will be in stark contrast to the sight that will be the last for most of us. Their final view of us will be just before our corpses are removed from the arena.

Pietor is nearly frantic as they rush to get the reticent Geoff dressed and ready for the parade. For once in my life I am not gaining the displeasure of someone. Little Jessa has been a good girl and has become one very accommodating and cooperative sacrificial lamb who is just waiting to be taken to the slaughter.

“I simply cannot believe that one person could take up the attentions of so many and still be a problem about getting ready and dressed. This year is supposed to make up for the ones before it and now this dolt is trying to make a mockery of my efforts,” he growls.

Nearly out of time to get his tributes ready and almost frothing at the mouth, Pietor proclaims Geoff ready and we are hustled out of the room. A brief trip takes us to the staging area for the chariots that we will ride in the parade and the final part of our costumes. A golden ceremonial scythe is handed to each of us to be held aloft in honor of our district.

We are helped to climb aboard the chariot and the horses pulling it begin their stately prance to glory. Now I know how the tributes of years past felt at this moment. My mother used to talk about having butterflies in your stomach when you were nervous, but my butterflies seem to be the size of eagles. I feel almost nauseous but manage to control the urge to vomit. The possible outcomes of doing this, from Pietor’s reaction to the probable first public execution outside the Games of a tribute, come to mind. I feel myself tremble slightly but the movement of the chariot masks this.

Our chariot moves into position behind that of District Eight and then we are off as the driverless, highly trained, animals pull us towards destiny.

I try to ignore the vast multitude of eyes on us, the roar of the crowd and the incessant drone of Flickerman as he makes his comments about each pair and their costumes. Most of all I avoid looking at the screens which magnify us so that any imperfection, any trace of fear, becomes visible. I know that the other tributes are examining these as well as they truly begin to size up their future opponents and this worries me. I don’t want to appear flawed or frightened and therefore stand straighter as I grasp my scythe while also appearing determined to be the winner of the Games that will begin in a few days. It is then that I hear Flickerman’s comments about us, Geoff and I.

“And now we have the tributes from District Nine. I feel almost as though I am seeing an ancient god and goddess of the harvest. The costumes are incredible and the female tribute is just breathtaking. From the pose that she has assumed I can see that she is determined to use it when crowned the winner of this year’s Games.”

I’ve never been called breathtaking before and my heart swells as doubt is replaced with confidence.

“The difference between this year and last is incredible! No bodysuits covered with grain, no suits made of wheat straw and definitely none of the horrid costumes of last year. The incredible beaten gold is awe inspiring and I just cannot tear my eyes off of this young pair.”

I fail in my attempts not to look at the screens and then see my much larger self. It seems impossible that I am this very regal looking person who stands in the chariot. Geoff is not exuding the same sort of confident air and I know that this will not benefit him. Gone is the nearly manic waving at the crowd. The gravity of the situation that we are in has hit him full force and I know that I am not mistaken when I think that I can see tears in his eyes.

The cameras have moved on to District Ten and no one in the crowd sees his fear, but it is burned into my mind. I had sworn to die quickly but now my mind is made up, I’m going to live. I’m going to live, even if I have to be the one to end the life of my neighbor.

The chariots finally reach a large circular area where they take their places. We tributes used this time to try to truly take stock of each other and I do not like what I can see. The vulnerabilities that I had believed that I had seen are now masked and I see only hardened exteriors, especially in the tributes from Districts One and Two.

These tributes are more commonly known as Careers. They train for this moment from a very early age and are fairly lethal even without a weapon in their hands. People from these districts live a much easier life than someone from one of the outer districts, including mine. Their young people readily volunteer for the Games, so much so that rarely does a name have to be drawn. Many believe that it has already been decided who will go to the Games and that their reaping is merely a staged event for appearances.

There are no apprehensive gazes in those chariots, only a firm determination to kill anyone who gets into their way of winning the Games.

I tear my eyes from them as President Snow appears before us on the raised balcony.

His hair and beard as white as his name implies and with pale eyes that are emotionless, President Snow stands before and above us for a moment before speaking.

“Greetings tributes, all of Panem welcomes you to the Capitol. All of Panem waits to see your bravery in the Games and your individual quests for glory.”

“You are here today because you were chosen to represent your district. You are here because your district looks forward to what they will receive should you emerge victorious. You are here because your district understands its duty.”

“That duty, in repayment for their treachery, is to provide two tributes, one male and one female, to do battle to the death. Only one may win and thus we know that, unfortunately, twenty three of you shall die during the Games. The district of the winner shall receive prizes in a wealth of food; this is done to prove the benevolence of the Capitol and its citizens.”

“Soon your Games will begin and, for most of you, end. But remember your duty to your district and you shall rise victorious.”

He grinned at that point and then spoke again.

“May the odds be ever in your favor!”

With that the chariots begin to move once again and we are soon back with Pietor in the preparation area as our grand outfits are removed. We will dress in something else for our interviews in a few days and I am certain that our stylist has something else in mind to keep all eyes on us.

Not long after that, I am certain, all eyes will be on us to watch us die.


	4. Chapter Four

We’re together again, all of the tributes, as we stand in a circle in the middle of the Training Center. It’s quite simple, really, even though many of the Careers already know how to kill and the rest of us have a good idea about how it works, the Capitol wants it to look good on camera.

Evidently there is a wrong way to kill someone when there is a camera trained on you during battle and the entire of Panem is watching.

We’ve already heard the speech about our odds in the Games and have been given strict instructions about fighting during the training. We will get enough chances to do that once the Games start.

While we listen, I think about what the woman in charge of training has said about our chances of death through means other than that of another tribute. Food is not a given, neither is water; both of them are necessities and only those lucky or brutal enough will get a chance of having it once the initial bloodbath commences. Certainly there will be plans for alliances to control the majority of what is provided for us and those left out will have difficulty securing either.

Then there are the elements and other natural hazards. I have seen tributes freeze to death or become so weak and crazed because of inclement weather that they become easy targets. Bites from insects and animals are also a consideration, because they have claimed lives in the past. A lot to think about and I wonder how many of the others are doing the same.

As we break out of the group I note with grim satisfaction which tributes go for what weapon. Some eagerly grab swords and swiftly prove that they have had training in handling one. Many of them display finesse while others are clumsy. These are the ones to avoid close in, whether they are clumsy or not.

I hang back as the first shot from an unfamiliar bow goes wild and brings a curse from a Career. There are others who are handling bows and doing very well with them. Long range fights seem to be their game plan. There are also those who go for the throwing knives and spears. They intend to fight from a distance and are to be kept track of.

But none of them know that my true interest, even though I feign interest in the other tools of death, lies in the headband that I wear.

Bows are forbidden in the districts, but many people wear cloths around their heads to block the sweat from flowing into their eyes during work in the fields. I am no exception to this, but I have learned a secret use for this item. A headband, in the hands of one who knows how to use it, can become a fearsome weapon. It is a weapon to be feared for ammunition is readily available, does not require any real care and can kill in a variety of ways.

It can be used to hurl a smooth rock a great distance or to strangle an opponent that has been caught from behind.

As they have never been used against the Peacekeepers the headbands are normally overlooked as a necessary part of a wardrobe in the hot sun of the harvest. The Peacekeepers do nothing to impede the harvest, for they depend on the grain to fill their own bellies as well as those of their families.

Breaking out of the trance that I have been in, I step forward to pick up a spear and do my best to follow the lead of a trainer. It is soon clear in his expression, after several failed attempts at hitting a target, that he feels that I am a hopeless case. I am clumsy with the pointed weapon even though it is not much different from the staff that I learned to fight with. This ability had saved me form several beatings from older boys and girls back in the district who sought to teach the skinny girl a lesson.

Geoff notices none of this as he flails about with a sword. He might be inept with it, but his apparent strength gives everyone, including myself, reason not to count him as easy prey.

I put the spear aside and fairly spring up a rope ladder. I have climbed them before and enjoy it, even when they are swinging wildly. As I climb I realize that my exuberance has betrayed one of my strengths. I am agile and sure of myself even at heights that would hinder others.

As I silently curse this mistake, I also congratulate myself. The others, Geoff included, are silent in awe as I reach the top of the ladder. I know that, on the ladder, I am an easy target for an arrow but in a tree things change dramatically especially if the foliage is thick. If I can get there unobserved I will be almost invisible for someone searching for me.

I climb down easily and ignore the glares sent my way. It is all that I can do other than wonder if the glares are in anger, envy or the beginnings of fear. What I have done is to plant a seed in their minds, for if I can do that what else can I do.

The room that we are in is lined with targets and other tools of training, including an obstacle course. We all have to run it and the concept is easy enough to grasp. Avoid the trainers armed with staffs that intend to inflict pain upon the unwary or the unfortunate. I am certainly wary enough, but I wonder just how fortunate I am. Climbing trees is easy, but dodging a staff that is being swung with the intent of knocking you off of your feet is something else.

I watch as one of the Careers, brash and eager to show off, makes an attempt at the course. He actually does well for the first two obstacles and then has his legs knocked out from under him by a staff that came from nowhere. Curses fly when he regains his breath and then climbs back onto his feet.

 _‘Not yet,’_ I decide. _‘I’m not ready for that course yet. I’ll just watch others and learn from their mistakes and pain.’_

It turned out that I had plenty to watch as tribute after tribute attempts the course and fails. The staffs could come from anywhere and the hidden trainers were always moving around and changing locations so that there was no hope for memorization, or was there?

As I watched I noticed a pattern emerging and it was predictable if one watched long enough. The trainers used four patterns of placement and, if you managed to avoid the first three attacks, you would have the information that you needed to beat the maze.

The first was always the easiest to avoid, the second difficult because it nearly always put you into the path of the third. And the third was damn near impossible to avoid unless you were prepared to meet it.

As I prepare to step forward, a mass appears next to me and I am shoved roughly aside as the first Career to attempt the course pushes in front of me. His ego bruised and his embarrassment at failing the course clouding his thoughts, he takes my place to attempt it once again.

“Out of my way, Nine,” he snarls.

I watch as he leaps out and clears the first two trainers easily and then just manages to get past the third. His pride swelling, he whirls around that staff and turns to catch the next in his groin. We watch as he seems to fold in upon himself and then falls to the floor in a moaning heap. I barely am able to keep from laughing as he is dragged aside.

After watching tributes hitting the floor after collecting bruises from the staffs, I am feeling more confident. Finally one of the trainers, my opponent from the spear training, shoves me towards the course.

Angry at this shove, the second that I have received today, I whirl ready to do battle, and catch a staff across the midriff. I collapse to the mat as I clutch my middle, trying to breathe and vomit at the same time. The one thing that I CAN do is to shoot him a murderous glare that clearly telegraphs my intent. Someday, sometime, we are going to meet again and I will be ready for him.

“Get onto the course, tribute,” he snarls.

I rise unsteadily, step around my breakfast and advance on the starting point. From where I stand I can see some of the trainers, the ones who never move, readying themselves. I know that all of the tributes, especially those who have already been on the course, are watching me and wondering how far I will get. The trainer behind me suddenly shoves me again and this time I leap forward.

The staff of the first trainer whistles past me as I dodge past him. Judging my chances, I dive for the second station, shoulder rolling as I land and escape that attack. Unfortunately, the third trainer is ready for me and I see the incoming staff far too late.

It takes me full in the chest and I am flung backwards to land in a heap. I manage to cry out in pain as I land and then I know nothing.

When I awaken I realize that I am in a bed in a medical facility. Everything hurts and I gingerly run my hands up and down my body to try to determine if I am still whole. My chest hurts the most and I realize that I am lucky to be as coherent as I am. The trainer could have hit me much harder than he did.

One of the Capitol’s doctors walks into the room gives me a cursory examination and then turns to a waiting official. I had not seen the man enter with the doctor but I note that he does not seem the slightest bit sympathetic to my plight.

His question is simple.

“Can she compete?”

“There are no serious injuries other than a few possibly fractured ribs. Yes,” he answers, “she can compete.”

The official nods wordlessly, as though he had suddenly become an Avox, before they walk out of the room and leave me with my thoughts.

 _‘No serious injuries other than possible fractured ribs,’_ I think, _‘I would hate to think what sort of injuries **would** prevent a tribute from competing.’_

I watch as a nurse enters the room with something in her hand. A moment later she seizes my arm and I feel the sting of the needle. A glorious darkness envelops me once more and I fall into a deep sleep. While I sleep I find a visitor, my mother, waiting for me.

“Mama?”

“Jessa," she asks with alarm, "what have you done? Why have you put yourself at risk?”

“I missed you and did not know what to do. The house was falling in and there was almost no food. The rats had gotten into what I had left. I was almost to the point of starvation and made the decision without thinking it through.”

She gives me a look that I am very familiar with before speaking again.

“You cannot give up, Jessa. You cannot go without a fight.”

“I wanted to be with you, Mama. I hated being alone in the house.”

“Jessa!” she scolds in a familiar tone. “You are stronger than that and you know it. You need to not only survive, but to win. Nothing would make me sadder than for you to join me before it is time. We will be together some day but now is not the time.”

“But…” I begin before she cuts me off again.

“You must win the Games!” Mama insists. “Jessa, you must be stronger than you believe that you are. You know how to survive and you need to use what you know to do so.”

“I tried to save you, Mama. That is why I took the tesserae.”

“I know that you tried to save me, Honey. But it was not meant to happen.”

The tears in my eyes flow freely down my cheeks as she hugs me.

“I will never forget you, Mama. I will never forget you, even when I get really old.”

“Jessa,” she says with relief, “that was what I wanted to hear you say. I want and need you to survive so that you CAN get really old someday and have babies of your own.”

“I don’t know if I WANT to have babies, Mama. If I have babies, then when they are old enough, they have to face the reaping and the Hunger Games. I do not want to have to face that uncertainty and fear.”

“I know, Jessa, and I understand what you feel. But you will want someone to remember you the way that you remember me. Promise me that you will do your best to survive this.”

“I promise, Mama.”

She stands there for a moment, nodding as she smiles at me and then slowly fades from my view. But I hear her final words just as clearly as I had when she had spoken to me before she died.

“I love you, my darling Jessa.”

“I love you, Mama.”

I must have fallen into a deeper sleep because I knew no more until I finally regain consciousness in the medical facility. The doctor standing over me nods his satisfaction and then speaks.

“Enough down time for you, tribute,” he announces as he dismisses me. “Get back to what you are here for and no complaining about it hurting. I will not have anyone criticizing the care received here.”

Groaning, I manage to sit up in bed and sit there for a moment to regain my balance. Then I carefully swing my legs over the side of the bed and linger there for a moment before easing my feet down onto the floor.  
He does not rush me and I understand why clearly.

_‘If I die here the audience would not get to see the gore on camera. We could not have that, could we?’_

Recovering from a minor stumble, I strip off the gown that I am wearing and hurry to cover my nudity. My clothes are easily retrieved from where they had been placed and it is not long before I am tying my boots. I grit my teeth against the pain that I experience as heavily bruised ribs argue about what I am doing. Enduring the pain silently I finish what I am doing and then, after rising carefully, I walk out of the room.

A Peacekeeper falls into step beside me and I know that he will stay with me until I am back where I belong. The rest in the bed has been both good and bad. I had been treated for my injuries and that was good. The bad part was that I had been forced to miss part of a day of training, time that I could never make up.

When I walk into the room Geoff barely looks up from the plate that he is busily emptying, but Arniss gives me his best greasy smile. I cringe anew as he does this and rather wonder what I would have to do to go with the Peacekeeper. But he has already departed, the door quickly closing behind him. I ignore the smile sent my way by Arniss and the indifference shown to me by Geoff as I gingerly settle down at my place at the table.

Arniss catches my grimace as my injured ribs remind me that they are there. I fill my plate and settle into eating while doing my best not to look like I am in discomfort. Discomfort is a weakness that I cannot afford to show. Geoff may have been appearing to ignore me, but I cannot be certain of it.

While I eat, I realize that Melli is nearly beside herself with disgust as both Arniss and Geoff manage to make inglorious messes around the area that they seated. Neither of them appears to be totally themselves, although it’s hard to tell what Arniss normally is, and this may be due to whatever they are drinking.

I avoid the drinks that smell as though they might intoxicate me, but Geoff does not show the same caution. During harvest back home, some of the men would manage to gather enough waste grain to brew a similar smelling concoction. Mother would avoid it and made certain that I did the same, not to mention understood why I should.

As the meal progresses I sneak glances at my counterpart as he drinks and tells horrible stories to Arniss, who seems to enjoy them and think that they are uproariously hilarious. It is obvious that the drinks are impairing Geoff’s judgement and this gives me a chance, hurting as I am, to listen to him more closely while also trying to appear indifferent. He is talking nonstop with Arniss and I apparently am the only one actually listening to him, because Melli is ignoring them both.

My ears perk when he begins to talk about his strategy for the game and how he intends to win. None of it really makes much sense nor does it seem as though it will work. Either way, I now have information that might be useful to me.

Dinner seems to drag as I alternately force back moans of pain, the urge to vomit and I listen to the men as they talk. I refuse to rise to leave the table and thus look like the wounded animal that I am. But I wonder if the other tributes have heard that a wounded animal is one of the most dangerous creatures that you can face.

The final course, dessert, is almost more than I can handle. The consistency reminds me of that which I am trying not to expel. Thankfully, I manage to get through dessert and we all rise from the table.

This is a wonderful opportunity to excuse myself for a hot shower. It will do wonders, I know, to relieve the intense ache that I feel in my middle. A few minutes later I stand naked under the hot water as I allow it to beat down upon me. I marvel not for the first time at the pleasurable feeling that I had not experience before the Capitol.

The closest to this that I had ever experienced while in District Nine was when I had been outside during a rainstorm in the summer. I would, as a child, strip to the skin and run around until Mother spotted me and forced me to get dressed. We may have been poor but she did have pride.

When I am satisfied with the relief that the shower has brought I turn off the water and step out of the cubicle. I avoid the warm air in favor of a warm, clean towel that I use to dry quickly before stepping onto the forced air dryers to finish the job. My hair is quickly untangled by the current and I dress in the waiting gown. I hurry to bed to settle under the covers where I think about the day and what is coming.

My stomach is enjoying what I am putting into it, for the most part, and I know that I have at least a few days of being able to eat like I am and I intend to make it count. Walking into the training and then the Games almost starving was just begging for someone to kill you when you became desperate for food and then lost caution.

I know that both Arniss and Geoff will spend at least part of the night vomiting up what they have swallowed. If Geoff does this the night before the Games begin he will suffer the consequences quickly.

I cannot sleep, even though I should, so I get out of bed to walk to a sanctuary that I had found the night before. Putting the sodden heaps that are supposed to be men out of my mind I walk quietly to the place where at least I can be alone.  
I had chanced on the balcony during my wanderings and it had offered me solace on that night, but tonight all that it can hand me is anger.

The cityscape of the Capitol is ablaze with lights and the sounds of the celebrating crowds are nearly obscene. They were actually celebrating the glimpse that they had gotten of the people that they would watch fight and, in most cases, die. These PEOPLE thought nothing of the spilling of blood and the suffering that it brought. They couldn’t wait to see people, innocent people, whose only crime was that they had not been born in the Capitol hack each other to pieces. The worst part was that they used this for amusement. They actually found our suffering and deaths humorous.

The edge of the balcony, so close to me, was itself mocking me. I did not even have the choice of hurling myself off it to my death on the streets below. An energy curtain prevented this.

I stand there for a very long time as I play the “what ifs” in my mind. What if I had not volunteered? What would have happened then? Which girl from Nine would be standing where I was or would I have been the one selected and been here anyhow? What if my father had not abandoned his newborn daughter and wife? What if Mother had not become ill? What if some other girl had beaten me to volunteering and had spoken first?

This, I knew, had the potential to drive me crazy. It did no good to dwell on the “what ifs”, when instead I needed to think about the “what do I do to ensure my survival?” My mind realized that, unlike the “what ifs” the answer to the other question was actually very simple. I, Jessa Peaston, the gentle girl from District Nine who did not like the thought of killing, even for food, and who was innocent of any wrong doing, was going to have to do everything and anything that she could and had to in order to live.

Even if it meant killing someone who was no more guilty of wrongdoing than I was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my Mother, who died unexpectedly of a heart attack on March 10, 2019.
> 
> I love and miss you, Mom.


	5. Chapter Five

The next morning I awaken to the gentle, but firm, jostling from my Avox attendant. Silently she indicates that breakfast is served and, groaning as I did so, I get out of bed and dressed for the day. I again do my best to look like nothing is wrong, but I know that both Arniss and Melli have picked up on it even before I am seated.

I am grateful that Geoff is also running late, and I am busy eating from the plate that I have filled when he walks in. His appearance almost makes me laugh and I realize that I am seeing the aftereffects of what he had been drinking the night before. Arniss had also been drinking but is hiding the results much more capably; I guessed that it could be put down to experience.

The food, as usual, is excellent and I enjoy as much of it as is possible. My counterpart is having more than a little bit of difficulty in eating and appeared to be very ill. Geoff is still trying to eat, and struggling to hold it down, when I rise and leave the room to travel to the Training Center. I guess that there was no time like the present to train without him.

My arrival at the Training Center is noted by the Careers and the other tributes that have already arrived. They all watch me carefully, searching for any sign of weakness that might mark me as an easy target.

I do my best to deny them this opportunity. My head is held high and my expression is firmly set as I ignore them and move towards a center to practice camouflage. A quick glance at them reveals that they appear to be more than a little disappointed by my apparent wellness.

Apparent or not, my wellness is a fallacy and I have to struggle constantly to keep from displaying my pain. I whimper inwardly as damaged ribs remind me of the day before. Another problem is that I now regret my large breakfast. It wants to escape using the same route through which it entered. This is the last thing that I need because I would give them information.

Relief comes as Geoff finally arrives and he can do nothing to conceal how he is feeling. It is plastered all over his face and the other tributes take not of this weakness. He will lose far more training than I as he is not managing to do anything very well. His day of training ends in a pool of vomit on the floor and dismissal by a trainer.

This has the effect of the other tributes, including myself, taking note that Geoff has made himself an easy target. The hours that we spend in training will be lost for him and I, for one, could not be happier. He will be pursued and harried during the games, not to mention the fact that it will be very unlikely that he will manage to get his hands on a sword. I know that I just have to look out for the broken tree branch that he could utilize as a club.

I find the camouflage training rather enjoyable and swiftly prove myself at least part way capable of it. As long as another tribute that gets close enough to see me is blind I should be okay. I persevere at what I am doing and it is not long before the trainer nods his satisfaction. I leave the table and examine the knots that are displayed. I know how to make simple snares; they were useful in catching the rabbits that sometimes raided our garden. This had the advantage of providing meat for our table that we would not have had otherwise.

I don’t bother pretending to struggle at this; there isn’t any time for pretense today because I have to do some catching up from the day before. The trainer seems impressed with me, and it might have been because I am the only tribute to approach his station. Obviously the Careers are confident that they will get control of the food provided at the beginning of the Games and do not see the need for snares. If only they had known the other reasons for my interest.

Snares can be used to incapacitate people as easily as they do animals.

I hear a cry of pain and turn to see another tribute fall from the obstacle course after a strike from a staff. The girl is helped aside and then, after resting for a short time, is shoved back into line once a doctor has concluded that she is not hurt badly. Her limp tells me otherwise and I note that she is one of the Careers, the girl from District Two.

This is good news because if she has been slowed down she will be much easier to both evade and also pursue. I glance at her once again and then gasp as I recognize her.

She was the girl from my dreams! She was the girl who had died suddenly after being merely nicked by an arrow.

I turn away quickly to avoid looking as though I am staring. Even a look at the wrong time was enough to set one of the Careers off. They regard it as a challenge, an insult, and they are nearly rabid afterwards. Then they seek revenge and aren’t shy about inflicting pain if they can do it without being seen.

A shout reaches me and I turn to see the trainer from the day before, the one who had failed to teach me to use a spear and who had shoved me onto the obstacle course, approaching me at a trot. He arrives in front of me and begins his tirade.

“I guess that they managed to put you back together, tribute! There was no doubt in my mind that you were faking the entire time just to get out of training. I want you back on the course and I mean right now before I give you a beating with this staff.”

I see red, there is no doubt about it, I see red and, before he or I realize what is happening, I lash out. He staggers backwards and loses the staff that he was threatening me with. Before it can hit the floor I have it in my hands and marvel at the feel of the weapon. Then I prepare for the attack that is coming as he, enraged by what I have done, seizes a spear from a rackand lunges at me, all while everyone else in the center is watching with interest.

I had been the subject of torment back in the district and had learned swiftly to defend myself with the only close in weapon that was readily available. There was always a cast off broomstick or something lying around and I knew how to use them, usually much to the displeasure of the person facing me.

I block the spear with the staff while also whirling and bringing my own weapon around as everyone, Peacekeepers included, watch with amazement. The staff lashes across the face of the trainer and spinning him out of control.

He drops the spear as he clutches his face and wails while I stand ready to do battle once more. I am cognizant of the fact that the Peacekeepers are ready for something inappropriate to happen before they move in and I step back to allow him to regain his weapon.

“You wanted a fight, so get up,” I scream. “Get up and face me or is all of your talk just that?”

The jibe has the desired effect and he grabs the spear before rising and lunging once again, this time with the point. I feel the edge rip through my tunic just as my staff strikes him hard across the face once again. He staggers backwards and then collapses into a heap on the floor as I back away to examine the damage done to me.

I have a small slice in my flank and blood is welling from it, the feel of it running down my leg is frightening and I nearly panic. Somehow I hold it together and watch quietly, offering no aggression as the Peacekeepers advance upon me and my former, but now whimpering, opponent. When they are between the two of us I drop the staff and allow myself to be led away to a bench where the doctor waits for my arrival.

The tool that he uses to seal the wound is quick and I watch with interest as they lead the trainer from the room. He is more than a little wobbly on his feet and has to be assisted out of through the door. A Peacekeeper, who wears the insignia of an officer, approaches me and looks down at me with what I perceive to be a bit of amusement in his normally emotionless face.

“If he had not attacked you with that spear I would be executing you right now but,” he adds in a whisper as he struggles to maintain his demeanor, “it was an interesting fight and I enjoyed watching it. Do well in the Games for your district, Nine, get a staff into your hands and do well.”

He walks away without arresting me, much to the shock of everyone else that is present and I realize that I have given all of them something to think about. Even the Careers have something to consider if they get into a fight with me close in when I have a staff in my hands. This makes me realize that I have to find something to be a suitable replacement for a staff if I cannot find or get my hands on one. I know that, if one is included in the Cornucopia, they will do all that they can to keep it away from me, even if they have to destroy it to do so.

The most that I can hope for in the Games is that one of the Careers will get a spear and throw it at me, miss me and be too far from me to avoid my capturing it. I move away from where I am sitting to examine the obstacle course once again. My tormentor is not around to throw off my concentration and I know that the trainers are still in awe of what I have done when I leap onto the course unexpectedly.

The first two staffs are wild misses and one trainer loses his grip on his weapon long enough for me to grab it and pull it from his grasp. I dart at the third area and use my new found friend to block this attack.

They are recovering now, their wits returning as I plough past the fourth and fifth area and I hear curses from them as they hurry to reposition to stop me. The next area is no problem as I swing at that trainer, with no intent to hit him, and cause him to duck. This tactic gets me what I want as I dodge past the next two stations to face the final ones.

The trainers are frantically rallying, although they are aware that I am very likely going to beat the course. My staff is proving its worth as I block its mates and finally I step, untouched but breathing hard, off of the end of the course and casually toss the staff back to its former owner.

“Thanks for the loan,” I announce as I saunter away leaving him to his embarrassment and knowing that I will get away with what I have done. There are no rules against a tribute taking a staff from a trainer if they can get ahold of one and using it for their benefit.

As I walk past the still gaping Careers, I cannot help but add more fuel to the fire which is something that, in retrospect, I wish that I had not done.

“Let’s see you do what I just did.”

The Career that shoved me aside the day before shows that he is not happy with my challenge by the scowl that immediately crosses his face. I hear a muted growl from him and smile to myself as I walk towards the Hydration Center where I gulp water to replace what I have sweated out.

A startled squawk and a crash catches my attention and I turn to see the Career that I had taunted lying on the floor once again as he clutches his middle. The pain in his face is obvious and I feel a moment of pity, but only a moment. His arrogance is getting the better of him and I am enjoying it. If he displays his arrogance in the arena it may be his undoing. He is getting careless and this will not do him well once the Games start.

The throwing knife station catches my attention and, although I have no idea what I am doing, I stop to try my hand at it.

The trainer watches me warily; he has seen my performance with the staff, and steps aside as I pick up one of the knives. I marvel at the feel of it and the balance of the weapon before I watch him silently give me a brief tutorial. He throws it effortlessly and buries the point deep in a human shaped target. I stare for a moment at the knife that is planted in the area where a human heart would be. This is where I am to aim at and I am doubtful of my probable success.

He directs my grasp on the weapon and then watches as I draw my arm back before flinging it forward and releasing the knife. It flies from my hand and I can only hope for a strike. What I get is the weapon harmlessly bouncing off of the edge of the target and a derisive chuckle from my mentor.

I stand there for a moment while he laughs at my attempt and then I pick up another weapon and throw it as well. My success this time is no more than what I had had on the previous attempt.

 _‘Perhaps,’_ I hope, _‘one of the others will run into the path of a knife that I have thrown and impale themselves on it because I am certainly not going to hit a moving target with one of these things. I would be better off using one of them as a tool for other things.’_

I finally tire of failure and his laughter and walk away to examine the swords. Many of them are strongly built and very heavy, certainly not something for an underweight girl to attempt to use. A smaller and lighter, but just as lethal, sword seems more my size and I pick it up gingerly to examine it. The idea of the weapon’s use is clear enough; it is used to slice a close in opponent to death. I am not certain that I could do this but, then again, I hadn’t believed that I could make it through the obstacle course and I had done so.

Ignoring the attempt, and failure, of yet another tribute to get through the obstacle course, I practice with the sword that I have selected. It is also balanced exquisitely and feels almost like an extension of my arm, until I swing too widely and lose my grip on it. It flies from my grasp to lance into the air and land, quivering, imbedded in the mat that covers the floor.

I advance on it, quite aware of the shouts of derision from the Careers that have been watching, and pull it from the floor. A couple of hours later I feel quite a bit more comfortable with the weapon and am able to swing it with more confidence than I had had in the beginning.

The alarm for the mid-day meal sounds and I leave the area quietly, ignoring other tributes, to journey alone to my quarters. I know that I have given some of them reason to think less lightly of me while also demonstrating some of my weaknesses.

I had easily been goaded into a fight with the trainer and, instead of thinking about it before hand, had leapt into it. There had been no hesitance and this demonstrated my careless use of emotion and logic. It had made me seem easy to draw into a hopeless fight.

 _‘You know better than that, Jessa,’_ I chide myself; _‘you have to think before you get into something that you cannot get out of. The fact that you are here in the first place should tell you to think before you act. It’s going to get you killed and quickly.’_

Geoff looks at me, his face still displaying his distress, as I walk past him and ignore him. It is clear that he wants to say something, anything, to me but is not certain where to start. If it is an alliance that he wants he had better start showing me a bit more intelligence in his actions. I cannot, and will not, pull both of us through the Games only to have to fight him for survival at the end. I will not fight my way to the end only to die at the hands of my ally.

He will die at my hands before I let that happen.

The food smells delicious and, forgetting my aching ribs, I swiftly fill a plate. The savory broth in the bowl next to me entices me and I dip a spoon into it first. It seems to glide effortlessly down my throat and I don’t even have to really swallow. I put thoughts of the plate aside as I enjoy the contents of the bowl. Melli’s expressions of disgust are also given no thought as I hurry to eat as much as I can, manners be damned.

What appears to be a chicken leg is next and I quickly strip the meat from the bone before chewing it and swallowing. Arniss appears at that moment and settles down to watch me eat. He smiles at me once again and I know that he is going to say something. I just wonder if I really want to hear what it is. I didn’t need to worry about that.

“I hear that you gave quite a performance in the Training Center, Jessa.”

“What do you mean, Arniss?”

“The story about the fight with the trainer and then getting through the obstacle course traveled fast. You can be quite the surprise when you want to be, can’t you?”

“He made me angry and got what he deserved.”

“So I hear, but I would not make a habit of it if I were you. Beating the daylights out of trainers gains the attention of the Peacekeepers and, if you do it enough times, public execution.”

I pause with a fork full of food halfway to my mouth as he speaks.

“It makes the trainers and the Capitol that they work for look bad. Think about it,” he continues as he leans across the table towards me, “a tribute from District Nine, who is not supposed to know anything about fighting, being able to beat one of the trainers in a stand up fight and then make it past the staffs in the obstacle course. You are putting one hell of a target on yourself and now it is not just the Careers that you have to worry about. Jessa, you have the eyes of the Capitol on you, and that is not a good thing. Be careful.”

I gasp as I think about what he is saying and realize that there is much truth in it. I have given the Capitol something to think and wonder about. My success at what I have done may also be my death warrant.

I finish the meal much more slowly than I had started it and finally rise to return to the training Center. My head is swimming with the knowledge that has been imparted to me and I know that now I have to be very aware of what I am doing during training. More fights with trainers is definitely not an option and I need to be careful not to provoke one, for my own good and that of the people back in District Nine that might be punished for my actions.

My “friend” from the duel watches me with murderous eyes and I know that the conflict between us is not over. A glance at his tunic reveals that he has lost some standing and now is subordinate to some that he once commanded. I realize that he is probably very lucky to even still be breathing. He had allowed the Capitol to be humiliated and now had much to make up for to even approach his former rank.

I avoid him for the remainder of the day and manage to get through it in one piece before retiring for the night to return to my quarters. My bed calls to me and it is an exhausted Jessa that collapses into it after dinner and a hot shower.

Tomorrow is the final day of training and the meeting with the Gamemakers where we demonstrate what we can do.

After that the Games begin and I doubt very much that they will be any fun at all, especially for the losers.


	6. Chapter Six

The morning of our third day in the Capitol and of training for the Games broke with glorious sunshine that poured into my bedroom. I rolled over in bed just as the automatic screen that was intended to keep the glare at a tolerable level acted.

 _‘This is it,’_ I think, _‘my last day of group training before the Games begin.’_

I slip out of bed and hurry to take what, for me at least, is a novel thing. Hot showers don’t exist in Nine, unless you happen to be wealthy enough to afford what is necessary. Arniss has offered on many occasions to let me experience one at his home and has been turned down just as many times. The way that he looks at me, and hugs me sometimes, frightens me and I want nothing to do with him, at least not while we are alone in the house.

The hot water invigorates me and I stand under it for as long as I can stand it. I scrub all that remains of yesterday from my fourteen year old body and wonder about the day ahead.

No doubt, Arniss was right about what I had done in the Training Center and I cannot afford to repeat the performance if I want any chance of survival to even start the games. After training I will have to prove myself for the Gamemakers. This worries me, because I know that they will want to see more than me swinging a staff around. It means that I have to demonstrate what I can do with my headband and this could lead to trouble.

Tributes aren’t allowed in public with a concealed weapon. Even though everyone can see it and it is a constant part of what I wear, it is considered concealed. Will this get me into trouble and imprison me before the Games even begin?

My body dried and my hair arranged, I hurry to dress and then make my way out to breakfast. Geoff is already at the table and devouring the contents of his plate. He looks much healthier today than he did yesterday and seems ready to redeem himself. I sit down at my place and proceed to fill my plate with breakfast.

Melli, for once, is silent and this also worries me. I know that she is hoping for one of us to do well enough in the Games for her to seek a promotion to one of the better, wealthier, districts. Probably she is hoping that we don’t both die right away.

I eat quietly as I think about what is coming today. Avoiding the trainer that I humiliated yesterday is at the top of my list of things to do. He will be out for blood and will not care about inflicting a debilitating wound upon me. Probably he would see it as just revenge, the consequences of his actions be damned.

Arniss walks into the room, obviously already under the influence of something or another. He once again is ignored by me as he has nothing to offer at the moment and I certainly do not wish to be vomited on. A bowl of thick, hot cereal has my attention and I hurry to get through it so that I can escape the area.

Geoff beats me to completion and hurries from the room, all pretense that he knows me as vanished and now we are both firmly set on individual training. The other pairs will do this too, we all know that and I wonder how the Careers will do once they are alone and without their district mate. They all tend to stay together, I have noticed that, and seem somewhat distracted when the other is not in view. This is a weakness that they are displaying and I intend to take advantage of it if I can.

At the same time, I know that this could also be a ruse, they could be pretending distress when not together and I have to be prepared for that. Nothing is to be taken for granted.

I finish my breakfast and hurry to take the same path that Geoff has gone. When I arrive, I find him already flailing about with a sword and I do my best to stay out of its path as it cleaves the air. The Careers, clustered in a group, watch with interest and a bit of amusement when he nearly takes off his own foot when he drops the edged weapon. Backing away, I want to laugh like they are but I want no part of having him extremely angry with me when the Games start. Let him be pissed off at the others and ignore me for as long as is possible.

A staff is lying unused in one of the racks and it seems to call for me. Picking it up, I proceed to get in as much practice as I can. Out of the corner of my eye I see the trainer from the day before as he does his best to follow the orders of a man who had been his subordinate the day before. He doesn’t look happy about this and I vow to stay away from him at all costs, unless I have to defend myself.

I watch as one of the girls from another district manages to make it through the obstacle course, but not without collecting a few bruises and a nasty welt on her leg. A trainer had managed to score a hit on her and now she is hobbling away from the area to seek a doctor. Summoning courage I speak to her as she passes.

“Good job,” I whisper.

“Thanks,” she responds as she gives me the closest thing to a smile that I have seen during the training.

“I hope that they can make that better,” I offer. “You certainly do not want to start the Games like that.”

“Right now I just want to get through today. We meet with the Gamemakers this afternoon and I really hope that I can get a good score, because that means sponsors.

I swallow hard at the thought and then speak again before she walks away.

“Good luck.”

“Same to you,” she answers before hobbling away.

‘I just hope that I don’t have to be the one who kills you,’ I think to myself.

As I work with the staff I remember something that I have seen in the communal dining area, a planter filled with small, smooth rocks. They are just what I need for ammunition for my sling when I meet with those who will decide my fate tonight. I know that I need to get my hands on some of them or it is game over for me before it starts.

I flinch at a crash and turn to see that Geoff has managed to slice the rope holding up one of the sand filled bags that we use as a target. The large canvas bag now lies on the floor with sand spilling out of it through split seems. Geoff looks more than a little pleased at the results of his single swing and the Careers are taking note of what he has done.

 _‘You have just made yourself a larger target,’_ I muse as he saunters away from the mess that he has created.

We work throughout the morning and my stomach is grateful when time for the midday meal arrives. I distance myself from Geoff, I do not want to be seen as his ally, and watch as the Careers congregate at one table. They talk loudly among themselves and often break into laughter as they look around the room at the remainder of us. Obviously they see the remainder of us as sheep for the slaughter and themselves as the wolves who are meant to do the slaughtering.

A trainer appears at the door and calls for the first of the tributes, the boy from District One, to follow him. His name is Marcos and he is a large, barrel chested oaf who is not as dumb as he would lead everyone to believe. He is actually quite cunning; I know this because I have been watching him closely these last few days.

There is no doubt that he has gone to meet with the Gamemakers and I wonder what he will have to say once he returns. I do not have any reason to believe that I will be made privy to what he has learned, but he will likely share the knowledge with the other Careers.

He has been gone only about twenty minutes when the same trainer appears and calls for Celia, the girl from District One. She glances around the room for a moment before following him out of the room.

 _‘So, they will not come back once they have met with the Gamemakers,’_ I think with satisfaction. _‘At least they cannot share information with the others and that is a good thing. They do not know any more about what is going on than I do.’_

I watch as tribute after tribute leaves with the trainer and finally, once the tributes from District Seven have left, rise from my chair to walk to the table near the planter. Making certain that no one else is watching, I quickly gather a handful of the smooth rocks and drop them into my pocket. Obviously no one had noticed because there was no outcry of alarm at what I had done. A second handful joins it and I hope that I have enough to get me through the meeting.

I return to my chair with more food on my plate and watch as the tributes from Eight leave. Geoff will be next, I know this and then it will be my turn. I adjust my headband and wait for the inevitable. Soon enough the trainer appears and calls for Geoff. He rises slowly and then follows the trainer from the room.

I return to the table where the food is and manage to grab more rocks before walking back to my chair. I suddenly find that I cannot eat, my stomach is in knots and I feel almost like I did when I had done something wrong and was going to be punished by Mother. I fidget in my chair and then shove the plate away, untouched, as I wait for what is coming.

I did not have long to wait.

The door opens and the trainer appears again as he calls for the next tribute.

“Female, District Nine,” he announces.

I rise much more swiftly than Geoff had and, holding my head as high as I can while also trying not to get sick, I follow him back to the Training Center where I am to display what I can do.

I had seen the Gamemakers before as they had been fairly constantly present while we trained and I know that at least some of them had seen my conquering of both the obstacle course and my defeat of the trainer using the staff.

They watch as I approach and I note with satisfaction that I have plenty of small targets for my rocks. I step to a spot in front of the balcony on which they sit and then speak.

“Jessa Peaston, District Nine.”

I back away from where I am standing, knowing that I have their attention for now and hoping that I can keep it long enough to make a good impression.

They appear startled that I do not seize a weapon right away but instead pull my headband off and then reach into my pocket to pull out the first stone.

These stones are perfect for what I want to do because not just any stone will work. They have to be heavy enough to travel the distance that you want them to and smooth enough to leave the sling easily.

I drop the stone into my sling and then two swift swings of the headband are made before I send the first stone directly at the target. An arrow sitting alone on a rack takes the direct hit and goes flying while I am already moving quickly to strike once again. A cup that had been used for drinking water is next and it shatters satisfactorily at the strike.

A glance at the Gamemakers reveals that they are nodding their approval and that I am not boring them. I do not flinch when a shot goes wild and clatters off somewhere beyond the obstacle course because it is followed swiftly by an accurate shot which eliminates the target. My own path of travel is taking closer and closer to the rack of staffs which sits near the human shaped targets that I have been pummeling with rocks.

Close enough finally, and out of stones, I seize a staff and lunge at the target nearest me. The staff hums in the air as I strike over and over. Finally, out of breath and sweating heavily, I return to my beginning area and face them.

My shooting had been good and, although I had missed a few targets, I had made a good impression on them. At least I hoped that I had.

“Thank you for your time,” I announce before turning and leaving the Training Center. The door closes behind me and I finally allow myself to relax. The headband now returns to its normal place and I ignore the Peacekeeper walking next to me. I arrive at the elevator and am soon at the Ninth Floor where I leave the compartment and Peacekeeper behind as I enter the place where I have been staying.

Arniss looks at me questioningly and I try to smile but find that I cannot. I am totally exhausted and I want nothing more than to take a shower and then to sleep.

I hurry into the bathroom where I strip and then climb into the shower where I am soon being pelted with the hot water. Tight muscles relax as I stand there quietly and allow it to run over my aching shoulders. I feel weak and yet I stand there allowing this comfort to happen.

The female Avox steps into the room, obviously to check on me, as I step out of the shower to be dried. I ignore my hair and dress quietly before walking to the bed and slipping into it. Sleep takes me quickly and I know nothing for several hours.

Arniss knew that things had gone well from the expression that Jessa had been wearing when she walked into the room, even though there had been no return of the smile that he had given. If things had not gone well, the girl would have been either upset or indignant and she had been neither. Instead she had actually appeared haughty and quite pleased with herself.

Soon enough, he knew, all would know what her efforts had brought.

Geoff sat in his own room while he brooded over his performance. He had actually lost his grip on the sword following a wild swing and had to retrieve it from where it had landed. This had elicited laughter from the Gamemakers and, although the remainder of the exhibition had gone flawlessly, he knew that this had cost him dearly.

I did not know any of this and, had I; I likely wouldn’t have cared a bit about it. All that my competition could do was either make me look very good or very bad. Unaware that hours had passed I was rudely awakened by my Avox attendant for dinner and the televised announcements of our scores. More mandatory watching was in store for us, but then we were all extremely used to it.

Dressing swiftly and doing what I could with my hair, I hurry out to the table where the food is waiting and remain quiet, even though Geoff has been drinking once again and it running off at the mouth about his performance. I try to hold back my laughter as he talks about losing the sword and having to retrieve it. That had to have cost him sponsors and Melli looks almost distraught as she wonders what impact it will have on her.

I savor the soup that fills the bowl in front of me and listen idly to what Geoff is spewing out. He had obviously made himself look like a fool and now I really wanted nothing to do with him. His one good property as an ally would be as a human shield from arrows or someone to hold off another player with a sword while I gained some distance.

My thoughts went to my headband; would I get to keep it? I had demonstrated the fact that it could be used as a weapon and I knew from past Games that tributes were not allowed to stand on the launch pads with weapons already present. Would they take it from me and, if they did, what could I use as a sling. There was also the question whether I would, if I was allowed to keep the headband, be able to find suitable stones to use as ammunition.

If I could I would be on a fairly equal standing against someone with a bow. I knew that I could throw a stone accurately almost as far as a person with a bow could shoot and I would not be constrained by the contents of a quiver. All of this was supposition and I knew because everything was unknown at the moment.

As time passed I found myself nearly trembling with anticipation about the scores. They would be on soon and I find that the suspense is terrible. No longer able to eat, I rise and walk to the couch where we will sit to watch the program. Caesar Flickerman will host it; he always does and has as long as I can remember. I wonder what color his hair will be this year, it is never the same and I wonder if he changes it daily.

My solitude is broken by Melli arriving to sit down in an overstuffed chair that I find hideous, although she seems to think that it is lovely. Arniss is next and he sits down uncomfortably close to me and I shift aside as much as I can before the arm of the couch stops me. At least Geoff cannot sit next to me and that is good. I don’t want to be the recipient if his stomach rebels against the food and alcohol that it contains.

He arrives and sits down in another chair while clutching his glass. I wonder if he drinks at home and decide that he probably does not. No one in District Nine has enough money or grain to spare for alcohol, except for the drunkards who don’t mind including nearly rotted grain in their brew.

The Capitol anthem begins and the screen brightens to display the insignia of the Capitol before it is replaced by the outrageously smiling face of Caesar Flickerman. I was right because he had changed the color of his hair from the bright blue last year to an incredible pink.

“Well, it is that time again, citizens of Panem, time for the annual Hunger Games and from what I have seen we have a suspenseful Game ahead of us. This year’s tributes are some of the best that I have seen in a very long time, with a very few exceptions.”

I listen as he drones on and highlights what the citizens of the Capitol and the rest of Panem can look forward to during the Games. What catches my attention is that he saying that the arena this year will make the other years look tame. This is going to be something special and now, for not the first time, I feel fearful as I consider what I am about to face. I feel my fingers digging into the arm of the couch as he speaks and then he turns his attention to the scores that we received from the Gamemakers.

I have no doubt that the Careers will do well in the scoring; they always do and average around an eight. On a scale of one to twelve that score is impressive and tells everyone that they are a force to be contended with.

The first face appears and I listen as Caesar announces the name and then the score, the boy from District One receives a nine and I groan inwardly. His face is replaced by the girl from that district and I am not surprised when she receives a seven. It isn’t a great score, but it is at least average and I know that she likely is not happy with what she received.

District Two’s tributes both receive eights and then are followed by the boy from Three who does as well as they. The scores after that proceed slowly, at least that it is the way that I perceive them to be moving, and I cannot wait to see how I have done.

I curse myself for feeling what the citizens of the Capitol feel when I am happy that someone does not do as well as they should have. It is the beginnings of the blood lust that the people of this city get every year and I do my best to quell it before it spills out in my comments.

The girl who had been injured and whom I had spoken to as she walked to the nurse gets a seven and I am glad that she did that well. She seems pleasant enough, but I wonder how pleasant she will be if I have to face her in the arena.

Finally, Geoff’s face appears and we all tense as his score is announced, a six. This score is right in the middle of the pack, above some but below many others and now I am terrified. I missed some of the shots that I took; will they hold that against me? Then my face appears and I hear Caesar saying my name.

“From District Nine, Jessa Peaston, receives a score of nine.”

Melli shrieks out with happiness and I feel my heart start beating again from the dead stop that it had assumed. A glance at Geoff tells me that he is unhappy with the results and he does nothing to disguise that fact when he rises and storms out of the room, after throwing his empty glass at the screen.

He is, I now know, going to seek to kill me just for getting a higher score than he. The program ends and I realize that I have done as well as the boy from One and no one else has a superior score.

I start as Arniss places his hand on my shoulder and I look up at him, surprised that I had not seen him stand up.

“You did okay, kid,” he says as he looks down at me. “Just do the same thing once you get into the arena and you will be fine.”

I manage a weak smile and nod as I reach up to place my hand on top of his, one to thank him for the comment and two to stop his hand from traveling any further down. He seems to realize my motivation for this and removes his had from the bare skin that it had touched. I watch as he walks away, back to his bedroom and the bottle that is waiting there.

Melli and I rise to leave the room as the Avox servants clean up the mess that Geoff made with his glass and clear the table of the remainders of dinner. Neither of us speak as we depart although I knew that I had caught her looking at me as though I were something special, something to be admired with the fear that it might be shattered if touched too roughly.

As the door closed behind me I turn and lean back against the wall next to it with my face in my hands.

_‘It will not be much longer before I have to go into the arena and the Games begin. Then, I have to find out if I can kill and, more importantly, if I can survive.’_

Trying to sleep can be Hell when you have something like that running through your mind.


	7. Chapter Seven

The final day of training before the games is more than a little entertaining. Geoff managed to make a fool of himself in as he very nearly severed his own foot with the sword that he was swinging. I ignored this as I was hustled away by Arniss to train separately from him.

I wonder about the reason for this as I have tried to distance myself from Arniss, even though he has done his best to get closer to me. In the district I had very little option but to do as I was forced to by circumstance, now I have every reason and opportunity to not be around him.

He does his best to try to fill me with the knowledge that I will need in the arena and I understand what he is trying to do. Arniss is trying his hardest to keep me alive, but I wonder about his motivation. If I am alive and return to District Nine I will live in one of the Victor Houses, likely the one next to his, and have no choice but to see him every day which is something that I have tried without success in the past.

This is, I understand, also part of the training that I will need before the interview with Caesar Flickerman tonight. It will be the first time that the Capitol and, indeed all of Panem, will get a sense of what and who Jessa Peaston really is. I am hoping that Pietor will come up with another wonderful outfit that wows the viewers, even though that is not who I really am. I want them to like me and, if possible, feel a bit sorry for me. If they have some sympathy for me, perhaps the Sponsors and Gamemakers will be more inclined to send me gifts while I am in the arena.

Certainly they know that I was good enough in front of the Gamemakers to get a nine, but what else do they know about me? NOTHING!

I listen as carefully as I can as the hours drag by and do my best to follow along with Arniss’ coaching, but it is hard to listen to someone who already has had plenty to drink while also enduring his breath and longing glances at me. For once I am glad that there is a Peacemaker present nearby, nothing can occur that should not while he is present otherwise I have every reason to believe that something might.

I am jolted out of thought by his voice.

“Jessa, are you even listening to what I am saying?”

“Yeah, I am,” I return in a somewhat snarl. “I know that I have to make them like me tonight and I am doing my best. I also know that I want them to know why I volunteered for the Games, you said that that would be helpful, even if I do tear up while I talk and think about Mama.”

“Good girl,” he responds as he reaches forward to place his hand on my knee. The hand lingers for a moment and I break the contact by moving my leg. He looks annoyed by this but does not repeat the action or move closer to me, for which I am grateful.

I know that soon Melli will take over and coach me on how I should look and act on camera. She is somewhat of an expert on public appearance and I am grateful that I will get to spend some time with her. Even though I inwardly despise her, she might actually be instrumental in my survival.

The door opens and I manage an escape to spend my time with Melli while Geoff enters the room to settle down into the seat that I have vacated. Arniss watches me as long as he can before the door closes and I am blocked from his view. He has never really touched me and for this I am grateful, but I know that he is attracted to me. I do not feel the same way about him and never will even if I do survive the Games manage to go home, and he knows this.

Melli is waiting for me and I settle down onto a chair to be immediately corrected. I am not to sit down the way that I have, more a perch than a sitting down.

“You need to sit down like a lady, _not a ruffian_ ,” she grouses. “The last thing that you need to come across as is a tomboy. You want to be seen as a _young lady!”_

She is saying this to someone who has grown up as a tomboy; there was no time or opportunity to be a lady in the fields while I worked. Delicacy was not a thought as I went to school for in District Nine the girls, even the small ones, were expected to be tough. Wearing a dress did not entitle you to gentle treatment and deciding that you were owed it was an invitation for disappointment. Only the daughters of the wealthy had any semblance of this chance. But they too faced the reaping and very possibility of sitting like and where I was at the moment, although they were not as likely to because they did not need to take the tesserae to survive.

I listen, nearly exhausted by it all, as I try to do as she asks and demands. I find that smiling is difficult when I realize that I am going to do it for appearances. These are the very people who will watch me fight for survival, possibly kill another person and very likely die, and they will show their approval of it all with applause.

We manage to get a meal in and I do my best to put down the tremors in my stomach while eating. Soon enough Pietor and his entourage arrive and swarm around me to begin my transformation into what he hopes will be a memorable young woman. They want me to be remembered rather than be a person who is out of the thoughts of the audience as soon as she leaves the stage.

The dress that I find myself in reminds me of the one that I wore for the parade. Long, flowing and golden the “Goddess of the Harvest” reemerges to an extent. I am grateful that it is not long enough to trip me and that I can manage the shoes that now are on my feet. They are sandals that invoke the image of what I wore in the chariot. My hair also is also arranged in a style that pays homage to the night that seems so long ago, but actually was less than a week before. The stylists flutter around me and Pietor pays close attention to what they are doing as he casts a critical eye on the progress. He is swift to step in if something does not look right and I am grateful for it. Finally I am allowed to see what I have become and it takes my breath away.

The woman in the mirror is someone that I have never seen before, although I know that it has to be me. I can see my mother in my eyes and Pietor moves swiftly to staunch the tears that begin to flow.

“No crying! We do not have the time to reapply this makeup!”

I nod my understanding and allow them to lead me out of the room to a place where we are to wait for transport to the studio where the interviews will take place. The trip is not long and soon we are standing in a place that is, if anything, nearly as big as the place where the parade took place. Thousands of seats face the stage and all of them are filled while the din of the audience is nearly deafening. They cannot wait to see us, the tributes that soon will not be so pretty, so groomed, as we engage in the fight for our lives.

We line up, district by district, to wait our turn to sit on stage with Caesar Flickerman.

I do not know why, because I will never face him in the arena, but the man terrifies me. He is a product and a symbol of the Capitol. Perhaps it is because once I am up on the stage with him; I will be truly alone in the Capitol. There will be no one else to draw attention because their eyes will be firmly upon me and any mistake, misspoken words or phrases will be apparent. This interview can turn the thoughts of the audience away from the tribute and cost sponsors.

His introduction over, the interviews begin. Some of the interviews seem to fly, while others drag on. Caesar seems to decide in the first minute which it shall be. It takes him that little amount of time to decide if he likes you. The tributes from Districts One and Two and nearly always Three have very long interviews.

I watch as the interviews take place and then as the boy and girl from District Eight, once their time arrives, do poorly and are almost hustled off of stage. I know that my turn is next and Caesar Flickerman looks at the list as my name pops up.

“From District Nine, Jessa Peaston!”

Swallowing my fear, I step onto the stage and as I clutch my scythe more for support than for show. He watches my approach and then as I settle down near him. I am strangely reminded of Arniss at this point and I cringe inwardly. All that I can hope is that he does not place his hand on my knee.

“Well, Jessa, how do you like the Capitol so far?”

I sense his apprehension as I speak.

“It’s beautiful," I manage to say, “I never imagined it like this. Everything is huge and very nice.”

His apprehension grows and I start to fear dismissal, but he seems to almost feel sympathetic as he continues his questioning in a gentler manner.

"You appeared very much as a goddess in the chariot during the parade, Jessa,” he compliments me. “Every inch of you appeared to be sheer perfection.

“I _wanted_ to appear that way,” I answer swiftly as I search for the right things to say as I remember that all of Panem and especially the Gamemakers and potential sponsors were watching. “The Capitol deserves someone like I appeared as the winner of the Games. I watched last year as the tributes from my district died quickly and I have no intention of disappointing the fine people of the Capitol and Panem.”

He relaxes at that point and I realize that I am on the right track.

“Pietor, my stylist, chose the right costumes because I intend to fight like a warrior. Warriors do not give up and I will not either. No one wants to see a tribute that only gives a half effort and maybe wins through sheer luck; I plan to go all out in my efforts!”

Caesar smiles at this point and I know that I have him. We talk for a long time, until a man off stage indicates that my time in front of the camera is up and Caesar announces me as I depart.

“From District Nine, our own warrior goddess, Jessa Peaston!”

The applause follows me off of the stage and as I walk out of camera view I am hoping that I do not fail in the identity that has been created for me. Right now, I am the “warrior goddess” and the last thing that she needs is to freeze when the Games start and die right away or to run like a scared rabbit. The latter would cost me any chance that I currently have for sponsors should I need them.

Geoff watches me as he waits for his turn and then steps onto the stage as his name is called. He nearly staggers into camera view and I hear whispers from the audience that do not sound favorable. I hurry back to Pietor in the hopes that I can lose this persona, but he tells me that I have to wait until after all are through with their interviews. Then it will be time for the final group shot, it will be the last time that we are all on camera while not trying to kill each other.

As we gather for that final shot as a group I suddenly realize that, while I have impressed Flickerman and probably a great deal of the Capitol and its important people, I have created a problem for myself.

The other tributes, the people that will try to kill me in a few hours, have seen my interview and have undoubtedly painted a target on the “warrior goddess.” My forced bravado on stage and in front of the cameras has made me look formidable. This is just the type of idea that will make them want me dead and as quickly as it possible.

When the photo opportunity is over we disperse to get out of our costumes. In the dressing area where I became something formidable, the “warrior goddess” vanishes to be replaced by a rather skinny and not very dangerous looking fourteen year old girl.

As I change into my other clothing and then leave the room to return to our quarters I manage to see Geoff as he huddles in a corner. He is trying to hide his face and is quite obviously in tears. In my eyes this makes him appear to be weak and not much of threat. But I also have cause to wonder about appearances.

What if this is all an act that he is putting on? I have seen tributes act this way in the past and then, once the Games begin and are in full swing, they turn into ruthless killers. Tears or not, I understand at that moment that I will have to either hope that someone else kills him or I kill Geoff Petar as swiftly as possible lest I take the risk of dying at his hands myself.

Melli is waiting for us and Arniss is with her. We will return to our quarters for dinner and this I know that I can look forward to. After today there is nothing that I can take for granted except for the fact that some people are going to die and that others are going to try to kill me.

The trip is swift and I do my best to ignore Geoff. There is no need to try to get to know him better because one or both of us will be dead in a few days, possibly by the hand of the other. I do not ignore Arniss, not because I like him but because I need his influence as a past victor to persuade sponsors to help me once things get tough.

When we arrive the table is already set and the Avox servers stand ready to provide what we need or desire, I settle down to a bowl of hearty stew and dinner rolls before dipping my spoon into it. I marvel again at the inglorious messes that both Arniss and Geoff are making at their places while I at least have some table manners, courtesy of my mother’s guidance and firm hand.

I listen to Arniss’ chatter as he gives us his final instructions, there will be no more evening meals in this room for me. Tomorrow I will be in the arena and be lucky if I have anything at all to eat, water is not even a given as I will likely be forced to look for this life sustaining liquid and, once I find it, make certain that it is safe to drink.

My stomach is enjoying what I am putting into it, although the butterflies in my gut are competing for space with it. I have this last chance for a good meal and do not intend to let that chance go to waste. Walking into the games nearly starving already is just an open invitation to get desperate and walk into a chance to die.

Geoff and Arniss are drinking again and I grimace as the boy from my district, the boy who will be fighting for his life tomorrow just as I will, loses his sense of judgement and chooses liquid fortification as he does his best to drink his fears and apprehensions away. I have no doubt that he will pay the consequences for his actions tonight swiftly.

When I finish with my meal, I rise and stalk away from the table, Melli and the two “men” who are feeling the effects of the liquids that they are drinking. Making my way to the balcony outside my room, I look out across the Capitol and take what is likely my last view of the city below me. I can hear the din of the pregame celebrations and make out the figures that are dancing and cavorting in the streets below. They have something to celebrate, while I have only my thoughts about what is to come.

I turn from the balcony and then walk to my bed to get at least a few hours of sleep before what is to come tomorrow.

A few hours later the female Avox is there in my room as she shakes me and I awaken already frightened. There are no more tomorrows before the Games! In a few short hours I know that I will be likely fighting for my life.

Climbing out of bed, I stumble to the shower to enjoy what little comfort it can provide to the condemned. I relax under the beating hot water and only the sudden presence of Melli breaks the mood.

Hesitantly I turn off the water and step out to be dried by the burst of warm air that envelops me. My hair gets the treatment too and I hurry to pull it into my favored ponytail and wrap the fastener around it to hold it into place and out of my eyes. I am missing the headband and wonder if I will ever wear one again. Then I turn to Melli, who is regarding me with something that appears to be sympathy.

“It is time, Jessa; you have to leave soon because the Games begin at ten. The transportation will be here soon.”

Nodding my understanding of what she is saying, but as silent as an Avox, I dress before walking to the table and choking down what breakfast I can handle. Geoff is already there when I arrive and it is obvious that the tension, and what he had to drink the night before, is getting to him. He picks nervously at his food without eating much of it.

Arniss, appearing sober for the first time that I can remember, nods silently to me as I enter. It is clear that he knows that he has done all he can for us at this point. Now all that he can do is to urge the sponsors to aid us should we need it.

We sit quietly and it is not long before Pietor and his entourage arrives and a terse announcement is made. Arniss glances at the clock and nods quietly before speaking.

“It is time to go.”

I try to avoid showing fear but fail miserably as tears run down my face and I choke back a sob. They all walk with us to the elevator and we emerge onto the rooftop where a hovercraft hands silently above the building.

I pause as a ladder descends and it is Geoff not the “warrior goddess” who steps forward first. He takes ahold of the ladder and is quickly lifted into the belly of the craft. I note that he seems to snap almost rigid before rising and that it does not appear to be voluntary. After he vanishes, the hover craft moves away from the building and a second arrives to replace the one that has spirited him away.

A ladder drops from this one as well, a ladder meant for me, and I turn to see both Melli and Arniss watching me. I accept a hug from Melli and then one from Arniss, a real hug and not the type that I have come to expect from him. Then I turn and grasp the ladder before stepping onto the first rung. I immediately understand the way that Geoff had snapped to attention as am electric current flows through me and holds me in place so that I cannot let go or fall. I am lifted into the hovercraft and held in place even after arriving in the vehicle.

A doctor approaches, seizes my arm and then injects me with something. It hurts like nothing that I have experienced before, except for the death of Mother, and I manage a grimace. My limbs are suddenly free of the current and I am led to a seat while Pietor arrives on the next ladder. He does not undergo the injection and takes note of me rubbing the injection site.

“It is a tracker so that the Gamemakers know where you are in the arena. I would not try to remove it if I were you because the consequences would be most unfortunate.”

I do not question what the unfortunate consequences would be and merely nod silently. We do not speak during the tri and I am thankful for this as Pietor does not strike me as being much for conversation. This gives me time to think.

At some point I note that the windows of the craft are going dark. No doubt they do not want me to get an early look at the place where many, including likely myself, will die.

I feel the vehicle beginning its descent and then the ladder is ready for us once again. This time we are on it at the same time and we stop in an underground chamber. We follow a guide down a wide corridor and I realize that we must actually be under the arena.

We finally stop at a door and I look at what is painted on it.

**Female**

**District Nine**

Pietor opens the door and I step through it to find myself in what will very likely be the last room that I ever enter. That is unless you count the room where my funeral is held, and I will not be paying much attention to that place. I will be too busy being dead.

Clothes are waiting for me and Pietor helps me change. I have been naked in front of so many men lately that I do not worry about modesty.

The clothing is just like what the other tributes will be wearing. Comfortable pants, socks and boots and a blouse that does not constrict my movement. It is finished with a jacket that has the number of my district displayed on it.

I glance at Pietor as I slip it on and he realizes my question.

“It will keep your body heat where and when you need it. The nights can be dreadfully cold.”

My curiosity sated, I glance around the room that, after today, will be a tourist attraction. The arenas and these rooms will only be used one time then the curious will be allowed to visit and “live” what we tributes do, except that they can order drinks and gourmet food and are not preparing to fight for their lives.

Pietor looks at me suddenly as he remembers something. He reaches into his pocket and draws forth my headband.

“They were not going to let you have this until I pointed out the fact that you were not going to begin the Games with your pockets filled with rocks, you would need to take the time to gather those, or behind another tribute, which we all know is not going to happen.”

I nod as I tie the cloth around my head. Right now it is just a rather frayed red cloth which is the remnants of an old dress, but should I get the chance it will become a weapon that is to be contended with. That is, if I live long enough for this to happen. A great number of tributes are normally dead within minutes of the end of the launch countdown.

“Attention, tributes, please report to the launch tubes,” a faceless female voice instructs.

I know that my face must have gone colorless at this and I numbly rise from the place where I have been sitting. The clear glass tube stands waiting for me, just as one identical to it waits for every other tribute, and I try to show strength as I walk to it. Obviously I have failed to do so because Pietor is suddenly behind me and has put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. I welcome this last friendly , at least I hoped that it was friendly and not just a shepherd moving a lamb to the slaughter, touch and then step into the tube.

He moves his hands before it closes around me and now I am alone. Abruptly the pad below me begins to rise and a hatch above me opens. Smells assail my nose and I am distressed that I cannot identify any of them.

I am next pummeled by the glare of the sunlight and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. I take a breath inward as I get my first look at the scene around me.

We, the twenty-four tributes, are arranged in a large circle around the Cornucopia. Each of us is an equal distance from the object so as not to give anyone an unfair advantage. The Cornucopia is huge and looks just like the pictures of cornucopia that I have seen in very old books.

Spilling out of the mouth of the structure, a mouth that was so tall that three of me could have not reached it even if we had been standing on each other’s shoulders, were the items that we need for survival. Food, clothes and weapons were arrayed according to value. The most valuable, of course, were within the mouth while less desirable and valuable things were scattered around the structure.

Now I get my first true look at who I face and our surroundings.

The tributes have only one of two expressions on their faces. They are either terrified of what is about to happen or ready to kill anyone that they encounter. Right now I imagine that previous agreements are likely void.

Geoff looks terrified and I turn from this bit of home to look at the terrain and it does not look promising. Scrub brush and pockets of trees makeup most of it. I see a small lake and stream and the valuable water that they contain. What appear to be old and abandoned structures stand forlornly, much as my home must, near some trees.

My attention returns to the countdown; it is at thirty and I prepare to race to my objective. A bundle against which a bag is leaning has my attention as do several rocks lying on the ground. These rounded stones are a good sign.

I need and want that bundle and bag and I anxiously look at the Career to my left. His eyes are fixed on the Cornucopia and he appears to be oblivious to everything else. On my other side a wild eyed boy appears to be ready to faint as he hyperventilates, I see no real threat there.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six …” I hear Claudius Templesmith count down the final numbers before the gong sounds and he announces “Ladies and Gentlemen let the Sixty-Seventh Hunger Games begin!”

My muscles, already tense, allow me to spring forward as the Career boy races towards the Cornucopia and he ignores the bundle and bag that I want. I need to grab it and get out of there before the real fighting starts, right now there are the beginning tussles as tributes reach something and then have to wrestle it from another person. Getting out of there is important and I have to get out of there before the killing starts because, for several tributes, their hearts are taking their final beats.


	8. Chapter Eight

As I run forward I take quick note of the positions of everyone that I can see. One tribute is already down, his killer standing over him as he hacks with a sword at his defenseless victim.

I ignore this and arrive at my bundle and bag just before the wild-eyed boy, I scoop them up and run as hard as I can to evade him although I know that he is right behind me. We are nearly out of the killing zone when I hear him utter a brief sound and feel his outstretched hand graze my back and slide down over my backside. All of this is as something warm and wet hits me from behind. My hand reaches back and then returns covered with blood and saliva. A quick glance backwards shows him lying on the ground with an arrow protruding from his back. This spurs me forward and I have the sudden urge to radically change my course. It was a good decision on my part for another arrow lodges itself into a tree beside me. A ditch appears before me and I launch myself into it, the mud at the bottom of it a much better choice than an arrow in my back.

I roll over and watch in horror as a girl, the very one that I had wished good luck to in the Training Center, is slashed across the belly with a sword. She collapses to her knees with her entrails spilling out of the wound and through fingers desperately and vainly trying to hold them inside her. Her killer swings again and this second stroke of the sword decapitates her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her even though I know that she could never have heard it.  It strikes me as sad that I never even learned her name.

The fighting has become furious and I watch as the archer takes out two more tributes before being brought down, a rock wielded in a hand crushing her skull. Her killer comes down to his knees straddling her torso as he hammers at her face and reduces it to bloody scraps of flesh, bone and brain.

I have seen enough and decide to take what I have managed to get and leave the area. More than one tribute has run from this initial fight rather than face a certain death and I am going to join them. Better to run now and live to fight another day I decide.

During all of this I realize that I have lost track of Geoff. Was he among the dead and I District Nine’s last hope for a victor? Or was he out there on the battlefield fighting like a madman? Or had he decided, like I, that it was far better to run? I know that I will know the answer tonight, when the faces of the dead are shown in the sky. This is the way that the Capitol displays a bit of heartless sarcasm, showing the faces of the dead as though they had been magnanimously sent to heaven by the Games.

I continue my pace for a long while, only catching sight of one other tribute and he was a great distance from me, and can hear the sounds of fighting diminishing. The cries of the wounded and dying are extinguished as they are finished off by their killers.

The cannons announcing deaths will sound soon and then we will all know how many remain of the original twenty-four who started.

A large rock looms before me and I decide that this is a good place to stop for a moment to catch my breath. Other than the distant boy that I had seen as I was running, I have seen no sign of any other tributes since leaving the area of the Cornucopia battle and I am grateful for this.

While I breathe heavily I look into the bundle and bag that very nearly cost me my life. I immediately see a water bottle and water purifying iodine. If I can get to a water source I know that these items will be immensely valuable.

A reflective blanket is also present along with a poncho. Evidently I can expect for it to rain. I search in vain for a sleeping bag but am disappointed. I reach the end of the bundle before repacking it and then looking into the bag.

My spirits brighten when I see a treasure trove of food. A tin of crackers, meat strips and a few apples are there along with a square, black stone. I recognize the stone as one that a person would use to hone a knife. Shaking my head at its current uselessness I drop it back into the bag.

“The least that they could have done was to include a knife to go along with it,” I mutter.

This small amount of food along with what I can see around me to eat, which is nothing, means that I need to search for food. I have seen some berries, but I recognized them as a source of distress for anyone foolish enough to eat them. We had them back home and, even though they were not lethal, they were certain to make you extremely ill. I cannot afford to lose the tiny bit of food that I have in my stomach and turned away from them without a second thought. I do wonder all the while as I am leaving them behind how many of the tributes who are unfamiliar with them will see them as a potential source of nourishment.

Faintly I hear movement off to my right and I quicken my pace. There is an outcropping of rock in the distance and this is my intended destination. That they are visible from a distance is a given but they offer a vantage point that I want. I know that whoever controls the food and weapons from the Cornucopia will be busy securing it, but what about the others? If I can get to the rocks and get a good look at the arena from there I will have gained knowledge that I can use to survive.

As I walk I notice that I am in a dry stream bed. Many of the stones that I see are interesting. Stopping to pick one up I note that it is a satisfactory sling stone, rounded, smooth and just the right weight, it goes into my pocket. Before long it has been joined by several others although I am cautious about what I pick up.

I am mindful as I walk to both staying under cover and the weight of the rocks in my pockets. Too many rocks will become heavy and slow me down.

The noise that I heard earlier is continuing and, I realize keeping pace with me. I scoop up a stone while also pulling off my headband. The stone stays ready in my hand and I stop my movement to gauge where the unknown is.

It also stops and I know now that I am being stalked by someone or something. A flash of muted color, even though brief, tells me that I face a person. One of the other tributes, possibly the boy that I saw earlier, has found me!

The brief pause ends suddenly as I attempt to back away to gain some distance and ready myself for what is coming. A boy, whom I recognize as being from District Five, races towards me from his cover with a club in his upraised hand and murder in his eyes while he utters a blood curdling scream. I drop the stone into my sling and quickly send the missile towards my opponent.

He stops midstride as the stone strikes his forehead and snaps his head backwards. Then he falls face down onto the ground as I watch. The club that he carried lands next to him and I stare at my fallen, but still breathing, foe.

The cameras are on me and the scene before me, I know this, and now I face a dilemma. Do I let him live knowing that he will attempt to kill me when and if he rises, even if I hurry away, or do I end the Game for him. If I do the former my image to the sponsors of a fearsome warrior will be broken while if I do the latter my image at home will never be the same.

He makes the decision before I can as he trembles in convulsions and then stops moving. I can now see the blood flowing from the head wound and that he no longer breathes. Quickly I look him over from a distance and see that he has nothing and that he appears to be the boy that I had seen in the distance. Apparently he had followed me. I turn and hurry away to the safety of some small trees where I watch a hovercraft arrive and his body ascends into its belly. Then the enormity of what I have done hits me.

 _I have killed someone!_ I have ended the life of someone’s loved one. It hits me as hard as the stone that I used to kill him.

Knowing that I cannot change what I have done I walk away, not looking back once, as I resume my course for the outcropping.

I know that I am wrong for feeling the way that I do. He would have killed me if I had not killed him. My own district would have felt the loss of a tribute, possibly both if Geoff is dead. I have the right to survive, to live, and I remembered the words of my mother. I needed to be strong for if no one else but me.

It is late afternoon when I stop at the outcropping. I turn, startled, as the cannons begin and I count them. The dreaded toll stops at ten and I settle back against a rock to allow the heat that it has absorbed during the day to warm me.

In the not so far distance I can see a large fire built and know that it must be at the site of the Cornucopia. This is arrogance in the extreme because it is a beacon summoning attack, not that those who had conquered all others to attain it had much to worry about.

The blanket from the bundle is soon wrapped around me as I watch the sky for what I know is soon to come. As if on cue the anthem begins and I watch as the faces of the dead appear.

I smile as the girl from Three appears, she had been the most proficient with the bow, having eliminated three opponents with it in the opening minutes of the game. Next came both tributes from District Five, I feel a pang of guilt about the boy being there, and then the girl from Six. District Eight now had two families grieving as the faces of both the boy and the girl appeared. I watch almost feverously until the girl District Ten appears followed by the tributes from Eleven. Finally the boy from District Twelve appears in the sky. The anthem ends with the eagle insignia of the Capitol, which I had always thought secretly of as a vulture, appearing before fading away to leave stars.

I move to a more concealed spot and settle in for the night. A few rocks strategically placed made the entrance to my refuge almost invisible and I fell asleep to find Mother waiting for me.

“You did well today, Jessa. You fought to survive and proved that you could do what you needed to do.”

But, Mama, I killed a boy from District Five,” I nearly wail.

“He would have killed you if you had not, Jessa.”

“But I ended a life! He can never tell his parents that he loves them again.”

“Jessa,” she responds in her “mother” tone, “you cannot think about it that way. One of the two of you was going to die in that fight and it just was not your time yet. I hope that your time is when you are old and gray.”

“Is that even possible, Mama? Is it even possible that someday I can be old and gray?”

“Yes, my love,” she responds as she smiles in a way that is so familiar to me. “Yes, it is possible for you to do this.”

“But I may have to kill again. I may have to end the life of someone else.”

She nods her agreement with what I am saying and I think that I can detect sadness in her eyes at the thought.

“Jessa, we end the lives of animals that we need for one reason or another. Think of the other tributes as animals and do not regret what you have to do to survive.”

I understand what she is saying as I remember when she had killed an old dog that had taken to hanging around our house. As a child, albeit a hungry one, I had taken a liking to him. I spent hours playing with him and thought that he would be mine forever, but that was not to be.

We needed food and that was what he represented to Mother. It was far more important to her to feed her daughter than it was to ensure the survival of a stray dog. There was no way that we could feed this extra mouth, our need was great and becoming critical.

I awakened one morning to Mother washing her bloody dress and slabs of meat on what had at one time been a counter. It was fresh and liberally salted to preserve it from spoilage.

Overjoyed about the deer that she had somehow killed I rushed out to find my friend. She stopped me when I headed in one direction, telling me to prepare for school. Cowed into obedience by the rare uplifted hand that promised a sore backside I hurried into the house to change. I walked to school that morning and spent the day wondering about her strange behavior.

At the end of the day I journeyed home but did not take the normal route. That day I walked in the direction that she had stopped me from taking and found the reason for her behavior.

Horrified at what I had found I rushed into the house and confronted her. My dog was the source of the meat and, although my words to her were hurtful, she fought past my tearful rage to hold and comfort me. Her reasoning, once I had calmed enough to listen was simple.

We needed the food.

As hungry as I was I ate the meat when it was prepared, although I cried at every meal until it was gone.

Nodding my head at her simple logic I finally responded to her.

“I understand, Mama, and I will do what I need to do to survive and go home. I will grow old and gray just like you want me to.”

“That,” she answers with a broad smile that warmed me more than the sun could, “is what I wanted to hear you say, Jessa.”

A pang of guilt hits me as I gaze at her.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Jessa.”

“I am so sorry for the things that I said to you the day that you had to kill the dog. I know now as I did then that you did what you had to do for our benefit. I was a lousy kid that day.”

“I forgave you as soon as you said it, Jessa. I forgave you and understood why you were saying what you did.”

“I love and miss you so much, Mama.”

“And I love you, Jessa, my love, now win this Game, go home and live your life.”

She fades away and I am able to sleep peacefully. Tomorrow, I know I must find water or this will be a very short and miserable Game for me. The rounded stones that I have found were formed by water flowing over them and I need to find the source of that water. I also have to hope that it is not the stream and small pond that I saw near the Cornucopia.

My sleep that night is filled with dreams of home, of days past and time spent with my Mother. She represents safety and, as long as I remember that about her, I know that I will be fine.


	9. Chapter Nine

My morning begins as the first pangs of thirst hit me. It has only been a day but I am feeling it with full force. I know, having watched the people in the fields collapse from lack of water, that lack of the life preserving fluid will kill you far faster than starvation and have seen tributes die in years past as they succumbed to that lack. They either slipped into a coma or went crazy and thus became easy prey for one of the others.

One of the apples becomes a meal and the juice that it contains helps somewhat but I know that it will not be a suitable substitute. It is either find water or die.

I gather my things and, after making certain that I am not being observed, slip out of my hole. Only sixty yards have passed under me when I hear a familiar and chilling sound. I freeze where I am and frantically search the ground with my eyes for the danger. Slowly I back away as my eyes search for what I fear and then see it under some scrub brush.

A rattlesnake, fully at least three feet in length, is coiled and ready to strike. I know that I have no chance to get a stone out of my pocket and into my headband before it strikes and desperation gives me a plan.

I carefully continue backing away, for where one snake is many more might be and I do not want to step on one, while I prepare to act.

The snake is fully coiled and preparing to strike when I go on the offensive. Hurling my bundle at the creature to distract it I hurl myself away from its strike zone. I watch, fascinated, as the snake strikes at its attacker while I draw forth a stone and remove my headband.

I have done this before back home. Snakes like this are a danger in the fields and one needed to be ready to kill them, preferably from a distance. Whirling the sling, I cast the stone and watch satisfied as it strikes my target.

The reptile writhes about as it begins to die and I am careful to keep my distance while also scanning for others. When it ceases movement I step forward with a long stick to prod it. Getting no response, I move forward and plant my feet on the top of its head while seizing the tail and pulling sharply upward. The body pulls free of the head and I am left with a carcass. I regard it with a shiver but do not cast it aside.

Snakes are edible and not to be discarded. I had learned that too.

Gathering my bundle I look within it again until I find the honing stone. They break fairly easily leaving a sharp edge that can cut you if you are not careful, another lesson that my backside learned.

Picking up the stone that killed the snake I strike the honing stone several times until it breaks and rewards me. A sharp edge now graces it and I use this tool to skin and gut the animal. There is not much meat but I wrap it in a corner of the blanket and move on.

The episode with the snake has told me that the cave I slept in may have other residents and that I need to be careful.

By midmorning I have found a dry stream bed and I follow it, walking up the center of it. My headband, the only long range defense that I have, waits in my hand while a stone waits in the other. It is not hot yet, but I am anticipating it.

As I walk my right foot suddenly sinks into the dirt and, when I pull it free, I am over joyed to see mud sticking to it. It is not much, the type of mud that is present a day or two after rain, but it is hope.

I move forward slowly and soon realize that I am very close to the source of moisture. Cautiously creeping forward I note the healthy looking stand of trees ahead of me. They are green which means that they are getting the water that they need.

Dropping to my belly, I inch forward and am greeted by a small, clear pool of water nearly twenty feet in diameter. Creeping forward I search for any sign of an ambush and see nothing. A large rock on the bank offers cover for me and I carefully make my way to my destination.

No arrows assail me and no tributes race forward to skewer me with spears and swords and I begin to have hope that I am alone. I pull the water bottle from my bundle and, after opening the cap, dip the vessel into the pool. When it will hold no more water, I lift it and then sit it down before me while I retrieve the iodine and place the necessary drops into the bottle.

While I wait for the water to be cleansed enough to drink I examine the snake. It should be cooked and I know this. Around me are plenty of small sticks that will make adequate fuel and, as long as I can produce a fire with a minimal amount of smoke I should be safe. A natural fire pit nearby will conceal the flames, which will not be large anyway.

I glance around as I work and am startled when a cannon sounds. This can only mean another death and I wonder who’s Game, and life, has ended. The thought of it being Geoff lingers for only an instant as I cut the animal apart and skewer it on a long sharp stick. Allowing myself to take time two sticks are rubbed vigorously together and soon produce enough heat to start a tiny fire that I carefully nurture. Feeding it slowly to prevent too much smoke I soon have hot coals to roast my meal.

A careful watch for other snakes, which would be drawn by heat, and other tributes occupies me while I wait.

I am intrigued by the distant structures, which seem totally out of place, and I wonder why they are present. Buildings have never, as long as I can remember, been included in any arena. They are obviously meant to draw us to them and would provide a great place to ambush a victim.

My thoughts are interrupted by a glint of color in the distance that does not seem natural. It is there and then gone so swiftly that had I not been looking directly at it, if I had even blinked, I would have missed it.

Someone is coming and I wonder if they are alone or if I face a group.

The meat is cooking and I cannot bear the thought of losing it. Clearly I am going to have an unwelcome dinner guest that will have to be dealt with and my stomach churns at the thought of having to kill again.

I see movement again but now I am moving toward it while staying under cover. We are closing on each other when I stop abruptly, my foot in the air as a buzzing sound alerts me. A large snake lies coiled in my path and, instead of forging onward foolishly, I choose the wisest course of action. Backing away from the creature I keep my eyes on it as well as the tributes that I can see clearly now.

There are three of them, although I cannot see them clearly yet. They are obviously on the hunt, looking for unwary prey, and have been drawn by something. A glance back towards my fire reveals no smoke or flames visible.

They will be on me soon and I think desperately for an answer when it suddenly comes to me.

The snake is still coiled and watching me although it is now silent. I bend down, pick up a rock and then throw it into the brush near the creature, causing noise and movement which attracts my opponents.

“There’s something over there,” I hear the whisper.

“Do you think that it is another one?” a voice answers.

“Well if it is they had better get a cannon ready,” the third finishes with a chuckle.

My plan, born of desperation and lack of a better course of action, is working and I can hear them tramping through the brush. They are making no small amount of noise as they approach and this noise has alerted the snake which shifts its position to prepare for this new threat. They burst through the brush and see me just as the snake strikes at the leader.

He screams and drops his spear, which he had been preparing to hurl at me, as he reaches down for his leg and the reptile. Angered at this perceived attack the snake strikes again this time at his arm as the boy’s face contorts in agony and fear.

I do not want to see what happens next. The brush around me makes cover that I can vanish into and I make use of it. Behind me I can hear cries of alarm and pain. The pain filled cries stop and are replaced by pleading for help. Looking back I can see his two companions running from the area and leaving him far behind.

I get back to my fire and settle down while I try to calm my nerves. Past experience tells me that, unless he gets treatment for the bites, the boy is doomed. One bite from this type of snake can be fatal, but two definitely will be. He has likely been bitten more times than what I saw, but two are enough.

Watching the receding forms in the distance, I try to block out his cries of pain. He will linger for a while before his cannon sounds. They had been right, I muse, a cannon had better be prepared.

The meat has my attention and I am enjoying my meal when I remember his spear. I need to go back after it once he is dead. As long as it is not on his body when the hovercraft arrives it will be left behind and mine for the taking.

I eat quickly, washing my meal down with water and then start the return trip to the site of the confrontation. Moving cautiously, lest I become the victim of a snake, I close in on the scene and find him barely breathing. The snake is lying nearby, clearly dead, and the spear lies a few feet from his hand.

He sees me at the edge of his fading vision and I gasp at the sight of the swollen injuries that he sustained in the attack of the snake. The boy, who I recognize as being from District Four, moans slightly as I approach and then manages to speak to me.

“Kill me! Please kill me so that this will end.”

I pause at his words, the spear that I have picked up pointing at him. I know what he wants having seen other victims of these snakes linger for days. It is a merciful act and I am willing to oblige this request. We are not enemies, he and I, merely adversaries thrown into this conflict by others who seek entertainment.

I nod at his request, not having the words that I really wish that I could say, as tears run down my cheeks.

He moans loudly as I push the point of the spear into his heart and then he relaxes into death as the cannon sounds. I pull the spear free and then hurry from the area so that they can recover the body. Almost as if my magic the hovercraft appears and I can see his body lifted into the belly of the machine before it whispers away.

I am better armed now although the act of using the spear sickened me. Unless I have no other choice, I vow, I will use this as a staff. The trip back to my fire pit is made slowly as I watch for more snakes. At the moment it is obvious that the group of three tributes that the boy that I had euthanized belonged to had had no prior experience with them and it had cost them.

A depression in the ground catches my attention and I move close enough to see a pool of thick, viscous mud. The pool extends into a small cave that I cannot see the back of. It is nothing really very interesting and actually a poor place to hide, especially since I do not know the depth of the mud. I pass it by, it can be explored later.

I finally find a high point and realize that I am far closer to the others than I thought. Had they abandoned the site of the Cornucopia in favor of a new, more defendable location? I can see the smoke from the fire of the night before and wonder if this is the same group that had conquered all others at the Cornucopia or another. It was not uncommon for groups to form during the Games. They would exist for a while before disintegrating when the members began to fight each other for dominance.

This fighting was not the savage, all-out war that always marked the beginning of the Games. Rather the attacks were carefully calculated affairs that usually ended with the death of an unsuspecting victim.

Leaving the lookout point behind, I pick my way carefully through the brush, mindful of the snakes. If they are present, what other unpleasant creatures call this arena home? The prospects are frightening and I hurry to return to the defendable confines of my cave. There is still light enough to aid in a thorough search of it and the spear will be useful if something appears.

Keeping a careful watch I retrace my steps towards what I call home for now. The ground before and around me are watched as are the distant campsites that I can make out. These will decrease in number as the days pass and their inhabitants either move or die. Idly I wonder where Geoff is.

Was he the cannon that I heard sound earlier or was that someone else?

My sanctuary finally appears before me and I spend a great deal of time examining it, my spear’s tip being poked into any and every crevice or hole that I can see. I spend the remainder of the usable daylight cleaning up the cave and gathering any brush that I can find that might be useful in making a fire. The nights were rather chilly as Pietor had warned me when I asked him about the need for the jacket. The pre-Game time seemed so long ago, maybe as long as a century although I know that it was only a few hours ago and I wonder if the remainder of the Game will seem to take as long to pass.

I absorb myself in the work around my camp and I am nearly done with this when I hear the anthem begin and hurry to look up at the sky.

As expected the boy from District Four appears, the snake had assured hid death while I had only done what he had asked of me. Next I see the face of the girl from District Seven; she had evidently been the cannon that I had heard. Not interested in anything further I retreat into my cave and after another careful search, I wrap myself in the blanket and let sleep take me.


	10. Chapter Ten

The next morning dawns cloudy and miserable as a cold, steady rain pelts the arena. I have the shelter that the cave provides and I huddle away from the mouth of the space. Nervously I scan the cave in the weak light and freeze as I see what I had fear that I would. A snake lies coiled a few feet from me and is nearly motionless. Clearly made sluggish by the cold, he is a quick kill with the spear and I use the edge of the weapon to remove the head.

He is swiftly skinned and gutted in preparation for cooking and the poncho is arranged to catch rain water to be funneled into my water bottle. Then I sit and watch the rain fall while keeping my weapons at the ready.

While I have no intention of venturing out into the squall I have no idea what the other tributes will do. There are eleven of us remaining and some of those are Careers.

Again I wonder about the buildings that I have seen. I have never seen buildings in and arena before and they bother me. Are they home to Muttations? Will they swarm us if the action dies down and the Gamemakers want to prevent audience boredom? The Games have to have high ratings and this only happens when blood is being spilled or soon will be. My killing of the boy will be seen as a kill for me, but was it regarded as a cowardly act or a compassionate one?

The stone that I threw into the brush to attract the trio clearly drew him to his death and will be regarded as a tourist attraction, as all relics of the Games are. That I threw it to attract them into the trap will be regarded as intent to eliminate at least one opponent. My spear through his heart will be regarded as a proper kill and thought highly of in the Capitol. In his district, however, it will likely be thought of as a heinous act. Should I be fortunate enough to win the Games his district will not feel as happy for me as the Capitol or other districts will.

With the rain drowning any hope of using the fire pit I realize that I may have to bring firewood into my cave. I really had not wanted to do this, because I had left the cave the day before as I had found it. Leaving evidence of habitation is not a good thing because if the other tributes find your refuge they will lay in wait for you in the hopes of catching you unaware. Games in the past had shown the outcome of this more than once and my mind travels back to one Game in particular.

A boy tribute from District Six had been ambushed and captured by several others. He had either been very sure of his safety or very stupid in leaving his camp easy to find.

After beating him severely, he had killed two of their allies; they had stripped him naked and then staked him out in the sun. They had been certain to stake him out over a large red ant hill and he had taken days to die. I had never forgotten his screaming in pain from the ant bites and his pleading for his death, for his captors to do what I had done. But they had laughed at him and his pain and let nature take its course. Even school children such as me watched the drama and horror unfold. My young mind could never erase what my seven year old eyes and ears had seen and heard.

Lightning flashes outside my cave and I blink in surprise. Another flash reveals something and I gasp at the sight. A third flash confirms what I had suspected, someone or something is moving outside my cave and I grasp the spear tightly in case it is needed.

Thunder rattles my cave and I watch as movement nears my home. Gritting my teeth I prepare for what is coming and ready myself for a fight.

Sudden movement makes me whirl and I lash out with my spear as a screeching horror launches itself at me. The creature howls in pain and rage as my spear tip digs a bloody furrow in its side and it backs away to lick the wound as a second attack comes. I am ready for this although I still do not know exactly what I am fighting. What I do know is that, whatever it is, it has company and I am going to be fighting in an enclosed area.

The second creature flies at me and, moving too fast to stop or to at least evade the spear, impales itself on the blade as we both fall backwards into my cave. It shrieks as it dies and I frantically drag the spear free to meet the third opponent which has also entered my home.

It lunges past the blade’s attack to snap enormous jaws at me and catches the staff end between the eyes. Staggering backwards from the stunning impact, it is unable to avoid the slashing attack that slices its throat to the bone. Gurgling from the blood which is pouring from its wounds and no doubt filling its lungs, the thing collapses and dies as I ready myself once again.

Exhausted, I turn to face the next attacker and watch with amazement as the first creature seems to go into convulsions on the ground where it has collapsed. It thrashes about, howling in agony, and finally is still. I look at the remains as I wonder what killed it. The spear had caused only a minor wound, certainly not lethal in any way, but now the creature was dead.

Grimly I look around and watch as the remainder of the shadowy forms vanishes into the rainy darkness. Obviously they have had enough and have decided to go elsewhere.

I look more closely at the two in my cave and realize that they are some sort of large cat. Nothing natural, of course, no doubt a Muttation sent by the Gamemakers to add interest to the spectacle. I swiftly run both of them through with the spear before dragging them out of the cave. The other creature, which had fallen outside, receives the same consideration because I cannot allow a wounded creature such as this to live. Now I know another of the denizens of this arena and can be prepared for them.

I received only a light scratch during the fight and make use of some of the fresh rain water to clean it. Although it is not serious in outward appearance I hope that appearances are not deceiving. The Capitol was famous for giving creatures who were not normally poisonous wicked types of venom.

As I tend to my wound, while also keeping an eye on the entrance to my sanctuary, I wonder if the other tributes will receive a similar visit tonight.

Certainly those who have taken refuge in trees are likely safe and no doubt those of the Cornucopia camp are safe but what about the others? How many, if any, will be taken by surprise and not survive the night.

I put my concern for them aside and begin to fortify the hole. Rocks as large as I can shift are moved to make the entry hole smaller and, by the time that I am satisfied, I am soaked to the skin and shivering with the cold.

Returning to the relative dryness of the cave, I strip to the skin and wring as much water as I can from my clothes. Laying the clothes out to dry as best as they can I wrap myself in the blanket and keep a bleak watch on my portal as the time passes and the rain falls outside.

A few crackers are consumed and I suck on a piece of a meat strip before chewing and swallowing it. This is washed down with the small amount of purified water that I have remaining after cleaning the wound. This is something that I need to replace and I tip the poncho enough to allow collected water to trickle into my bottle. The iodine drops are added and I sit the bottle of water aside while also carefully stopping the iodine container, but not before expending some of it on my injury. Memories of this remedy for injuries suffered during childhood came back full force as I grit my teeth against the sting. I clearly remembered pleading with my mother that I really did not need to have iodine applied and that the wounds would heal themselves on their own and that she did not need to worry about it.

The pleas never worked.

While I deal with this I wonder about my home in District Nine. Has our hovel been searched for anything of value? Anyone who did search it would be sorely disappointed. The partial loaf of coarse bread and a small amount bitter preserves in a jar were all of the food that remained. A few chipped dishes and badly battered pots resided in a cupboard and a few knives, forks and spoons lay in a drawer.

The stove was clearly on its last legs and a danger every time that a fire was built within it. It had to be watched closely lest the fire within spread outside its confines, courtesy of the door.

A threadbare blanket graced the bed and my few old clothes were held in what passed for a closet.

No, there really was not much to take unless someone decided to tear the desperate wreck down to use it as firewood.

I feel a tear slide down my face as I think about home. It had not been adequate shelter at all, but it had been home and I had something akin to happy there until Mother had died there. Then it had held one bad memory that constantly threatened to overwhelm the good ones that competed for space with it.

The rain outside intensifies its assault on the ground and I am grateful for the positioning of my current home. The rainwater is running downhill and away from it. I glance up into the darkness at what I can see of the ceiling and can see no evidence of water. My cave is more or less dry and provides a defendable place for now. I am certain that, if they follow past Games, that he Gamemakers will try again to flush me out and back into the fight.

This is very common as some tributes, trying to wait the others out and then emerge into the final fights fresh, are forced into the conflict before they are ready. Quite often they die swiftly as other; battered and bloody, tributes gang up on them.

I remember a boy who had found a hollowed tree that he could hide in. He actually did quite well as the others could not determine where his hiding place was. The Gamemakers apparently decided that this was an unfair situation and created a lightning strike which felled the tree. Managing to free himself from that predicament he suddenly found himself without shelter and back in the fight that he had been able to completely avoid. He did not last long and the death that he suffered was brutal and long in happening.

Right now I do not see this as a likelihood as I have been in _two_ fights, three if you count the animals, and not merely hiding to wait everyone else out. Jessa, the “warrior goddess” has been bloodied. No one can say that I have not been active in keeping the Capitol and it audience entertained.

A bright flash of lightning shows me that the carcasses of the animals are gone. Obviously taken by the other creatures or removed by the Gamemakers that had spawned them. While the possibility that the remains had been removed by the Gamemakers really does not bother me I am very concerned about the potential for further feline company.

The hours drag by and I watch water flow away from my cave in an ever widening stream. Now I understand the dry creek bed. Rains in the past if this area really has a past, and it has to have something, created the travel path and the stones that I have collected. The Gamemakers have merely adapted it for this use.

I think back to the fight with the Muttations and ponder the fact that I had killed one of them with what should have been only a minor would. The spear tip could not have penetrated far enough to have inflicted injury on a vital organ. I have seen tributes in past Games take far more serious wounds and manage to walk away from them. But the creature had been wounded and then died within minutes.

This nearly drives me crazy until my eyes fall on the snake that is still lying where I left him. It had also been killed by my spear.

“Wait a minute,” I announce to no one but myself. “Those are poisonous snakes and I killed that one with my spear. Maybe the venom got onto the blade and when I hit the Mutt with the spear the poison got into the injury.”

This makes sense to me as I have seen snake victims in District Nine go into the same sort of convulsions as the Muttation did before dying.

An idea comes to mind as I play things back in my thoughts. If I coated the spear blade with venom the spear would become an even more fearsome weapon. I would not have to impale an opponent, merely create minor and apparently non-life threatening injuries that were far more dangerous than they initially appeared. The only possible drawback is the danger of injuring myself with the spear and then dying a painful death.

I smile at the thought and then the smile dies. My dream about the girl dying from what looked like a non-life threatening injury comes back clearly. She had been hit by some weapon and then died during convulsions. Will I be the person who ends her life? Or will someone else discover what I believe that I have?

A glance out through the entrance tells me that the rain has abated somewhat and I venture forward to step out into the gentle rain that is falling. The ground is muddy and slick now and I have to walk carefully to avoid slipping. A fall could be disastrous because an immobilized person really has no chance of success when they are forced to defend themselves against an attack. They usually die a swift and unavoidable death.

Running my fingers through my rain soaked hair, and then down over my naked and skinny body, I do what I can to clean it. Not too many days ago I was washing it and my body in a shower the likes of which I had never imagined before. Now, as I do what I am, I remember cleansing myself outside while still in District Nine. Of course, Mother had not approved of what I had done and a good scolding and a sore backside had resulted as a result of her wrath.

I do what I can to get as clean as is possible in the rain before ducking back into the cave. Once again the blanket goes around me and I huddle while the water drips off of me. When I feel that I am dry enough I slip my clothes back on before pushing the final stone back into position to block the entrance.

There is no fire to betray my home to the others and I curl up in the blanket to get what sleep that I can. As I sleep the world around me goes on and I am blissfully unaware of what is going on during my absence from it.


	11. Chapter Eleven

When my eyes open day has come and the sun beats down with a vengeance on the arena after being blocked the day before.

I realize to my dismay that I had inadvertently slept through the anthem and thus do not know if there were any deaths yesterday. Now I can only guess how many other tributes I still face. No doubt they are searching for anyone that they can find and kill to remove the threat posed to them by those tributes.

A glance around the cave reveals two snakes which are swiftly dispatched with the spear. I quickly skin and gut them after removing the heads and. The spear is laid aside carefully as I remain mindful of the danger that it now represents.

The stones are carefully moved to unblock the entrance of my home while I consider what I have done. The folly of doing what I did the night before worries me. I am now in the dark about how many and who I still face. At least I had exercised caution about unsealing the cave.

If the others had come across my refuge they could have easily sealed me inside with little to now chance of either escape or survival. I would have either starved to death or succumbed to dehydration. They could have also waited for me to attempt an escape and then enjoyed killing me slowly for both their amusement as well as that of the audience.

Water from a tear runs down my cheek as I think about Mama. Even in death she occupies my mind, which is something that I do not want to end. Her presence in my thoughts is all that remains to keep me sane and willing to fight instead of walking out to intentionally be killed without trying to defend myself.

I pause in what I am doing to scan the area around my cave. I see no evidence of approach and allow myself a bit of relaxation. Being caught unaware or unprepared meant certain death.

A few dried shrubs get my attention as I hurry to gather wood for a fire large enough to cook the snakes. It will not require much of a fire to do this and thus not much smoke will result. My caution about this fact reduces the chance of detection from a distance and therefore keeps me somewhat safe. I can pinpoint the Cornucopia easily by the large fire that burns there. I can see evidence of two other traces of campfire smoke rise in the sky in other areas and one rather close to my own position.

I take a second look at this one because it is far closer than I am comfortable with. Taking a deep breath I come to the decision that this needs to be investigated and, if necessary, dealt with. Could it be Geoff? Was he the owner of the camp? Was he actually stupid enough to leave evidence of this location for all to see?

Reentering the cave I work with a stone and a carefully handled spear tip to produce sparks. It is not long before a small trace of smoke rises from the sticks that I am using for kindling. I nurture the small glow that results from my efforts until I am rewarded with flames.

The meat from the snakes, cut into pieces with the broken honing stone, is skewered on a sharpened stick before being held over the flames. The meat, however meager it is, will help my strength to remain somewhat high. As they are the most in danger of spoiling and then having to be discarded instead of being eaten I need to make haste to consume them. An apple will join the snake meat in my stomach.

That stomach growls as the meat cooks and its aroma reaches my nose. When I judge it to be thoroughly cooked, but not burnt, I gingerly remove it from the skewer and nibble at it. Minor discomfort from the hot food against my lips and tongue are ignored as best that I can while I exercise more caution in swallowing. I have experienced scorching the inside of my throat with hot food before and do not wish to relive the feeling.

The meal is enjoyed and then washed down with water before the fire is stamped out and the ashes shuffled to a hole that is in one corner of the floor of the cave. My poncho provides enough water to refill my water bottle before being emptied, folded and then returned to my bag. I use the iodine on the fresh water and then put it back into my pack before preparing to leave.

My pockets are filled with the stones, my headband replaced around my hair and the spear carefully lifted to avoid scraping myself with the blade. With the bundle slung over my shoulder I set out to determine who the fire near me belongs to and if they can be dealt with.

The rain of the day before has turned formerly dry ground into mud. Mud is a problem because you leave tracks that do not take an expert tracker to follow. Considering my options I decide on a rocky path that, while it will leave no tracks to follow, will take me longer to reach my destination and therefore increase my chances of being detected.

Slowly picking my way along the rocks, and nearly tumbling off of them several times, I move ever closer to the site of the smoke’s origin. Trying to stay undercover slows me down too and the possibility of being seen first bothers me.

I am planning, if possible, an ambush and may things can go wrong with this. An ambush only works if you can surprise someone, but if they see me first I will be the surprised; and likely dead, one. It also only works if your target is like you, alone. Against two or more tributes I have no chance and the possibility that this is a decoy fire set to lure in the unwary weighs heavily on my mind. I could be walking blindly into a trap.

As the small group of trees where the smoke from the fire rises gets closer I begin to grow apprehensive. Can I kill someone without giving them a chance to defend themselves? Certainly they will likely not have any problem killing me if the situation were to be reversed. I cannot expect mercy from anyone, including and probably Geoff, as we are all vying for the same thing. We all desperately want to live and get a chance to return to our district. Now I have intentions of ending those plans to go home for someone.

As I approach the campsite I have the uncomfortable feeling that my progress is being watched and not by the Gamemakers and audience. Certainly they have their eyes on me but this feels different.

I pause as if, and the action’s motivation was just that, I was aware of the potential for confrontation. Behind me there is none, for an attacker would be out in the open and very visible. My left is also clear for once again there is nowhere to hide. While my objective is in front of me my attention is to my right. Backing away is not an option because it puts me at even more of a disadvantage than I already am. All that I can hope for is a mistake on the part of whoever I face or the sudden appearance of an ally.

Neither one is very likely.

Movement in the brush to my right is caught out of the corner of my eye and I brace for the attack that is coming and possibly ending my life. I grasp the shaft of the spear tightly as my breathing quickens and I turn to face this unknown threat.

To my surprise no attack comes. Instead I hear the rustling sound of something or someone hurrying away at a run. I catch a fleeting glimpse of an unnatural color and understand that this is a tribute. They are either retreating or trying to get to reinforcements. While I do not mind retreat and would normally do nothing to prevent it I cannot allow this unknown person to bring back help to be used against me. Because of this I do the first thing that comes to mind, even though it is not the wisest course of action, I pursue.

Apparently the person ahead of me can hear me crashing through the brush because they begin to move faster. I am quick and I know it, but they are rapidly outpacing me. I lose sight of them finally and begin to worry that I might be walking blindly into a trap. Stopping where I am I decide to retrace my steps and leave the area as swiftly as I can. Backing away slowly, I finally turn and run back the way that I have come, all the while expecting the impact and pain of an arrow in my back.

Reaching the place where I first realized that I was not alone I chance a look backwards. I am being watched, I am very certain of it and this makes me nervous. Whoever this is could track me back to my cave. The mud left over from the rain the night before will make it an easy task for even the worst tracker in Panem. I am in trouble and I know it.

Reaching the rocky path that I used to make my way here I pick my way towards the cave. I also have to be on the lookout for snakes lest they help my opponent by killing me.  Looking frequently behind me I see no sign of pursuit and I stick to the rocks to prevent tracks in the mud from betraying me.

Just when I believed that I was going to get out of this situation easily I hear noise behind me. I glance behind me and catch movement that tells me that I _am_ being followed. The situation is obviously going to get serious because a person who is following me is certainly not retreating. I can expect an attack, and soon.

Backing against a large rock so that I only have to watch two directions I brace myself for the inevitable. Abruptly I see my opponent and my eyes widen as the boy from District Seven steps out of the undergrowth.

He carries no weapons that I can see and looks terrified at the situation. Terrified is not the only thing that I see in his eyes, I see hunger.

This is only the morning of the fourth day in the arena and he looks as though he is already starving to death. His appearance, the sallow skin, haunted eyes and chattering teeth, frightens me. I stare at him while I grasp the spear tightly and then he screams at me.

“Did you come to kill me? I know that you came to my camp! Did you come to kill me? Answer me! Did you?”

I am not certain what to think and I study him carefully, the point of the spear never wavering. Has he lost his mind? I take another glance at him for I actually fear looking him in the eyes.

That is when I notice the rash on his neck. It is a rash that I have never seen before and I wonder what could create such an affliction so rapidly and if it could be contagious. Is he killing me by just standing where he is and screaming at me the way that he has?

His eyes frighten me most of all. There is no doubt that his mind has shattered and this makes him dangerous in itself. Tributes have gone crazy in past Games and proven to be quite dangerous as they lost fear of injury or death. But the possibility that he carries an illness is a danger not usually part of the Games.

“I am sorry that I intruded,” I manage to stutter. “I will leave if you want me to.”

He nods furiously and does not advance as I inch away, never taking my eyes off of him. As much as I do not wish to kill another tribute I will kill this one if he attacks. My back to the stone wall I continue my retreat until I have enough distance to turn and run.

The distance between the place that I was and relative safety is crossed quickly, although I believe that I have crawled it. I glance backwards over my shoulder and am relieved to see him hurrying back the way that he had emerged from.

Even though there had been no violent encounter the incident has rattled my calm. Did he eat something that he should not have or did he have some illness that the Capitol doctors did not catch and treat? Because I was rather close to him I now fear that if he was ill that he has passed it on to me.

The trip back to my cave is filled with fear as I repeatedly believe that I have heard the sounds of pursuit. Was he waiting for me around some corner? Would he pay me a visit once I am in my cave?

My mind is swimming with these thoughts as I hurry towards my destination.

The path back to my cave seems longer than before and it is not until I pass the mud filled hole that I realize that I have taken a wrong turn.

Making the turn to retrace my steps I have to momentarily pass through some brush and it is while I am doing this that two things happen.  
The first is the sight of the boy whose camp I had gone to investigate. I  _have_ been followed! I am preparing for a fight when the next thing happens. There is a sudden buzzing noise and then a sharp, heavy impact on my leg.

I look down to see the snake that has just struck and lurch away from it, causing it to miss on its second attack. Making haste to move away from it, all the while trying to watch the boy who is now advancing, I manage to clear the strike zone.

The boy suddenly lunges at me with a knife in his upraised hand and impales himself on the spear that I had raised at the last moment to meet the attack. His eyes go wide as blood explodes from both his mouth and the wound. The knife that he carried drops to the ground beside me before he collapses. He lays there for a short time as his breathing becomes labored before speaking his final words.

“I knew that you came to kill me.”

I watch as his eyes glaze over and he dies. It is at that moment that I realize that I am in big trouble. Dragging the spear out of his body I turn my attention to my own wound.

I reach out to grab his knife and used it to cut away at my pants leg, revealing the injury. A stick lying nearby and the piece of my pants leg becomes a tourniquet to slow the flow of the venom through my system.

Grimacing at the pain and crying out as I do, I use the knife to cut into my leg before squeezing as hard as I can above the injury. Certain that the boy is dead, his cannon had sounded, and that the snake is no longer a threat, I manage to rise and limp away.

By the time that I reach a secure area I am sweating profusely and am lightheaded. A noise behind me tells me that a hovercraft has taken the body and I wonder if it will not soon me returning to remove my corpse soon.

I settle back to replay everything that I know about the situation that I am in. The tourniquet was a bad idea and I hurry to remove it. Having been bitten only once I know that I have at least a chance of survival, albeit a slim one. That is unless Arniss can convince sponsors to help me. The only reason for them to do this is because they may not want to see the “warrior goddess” die like this. They want to see me die in battle because it would be far more entertaining than me expiring from a snake bite.

Moisture strikes my face and is followed by more as a cloudburst erupts over me. I sit quietly in the downpour, getting thoroughly drenched to the skin and I barely hear the sound that precedes the arrival of the parachute.

I had been right; the sponsors want to see me die in a blaze of glory and battle not from a mere snakebite.

The double vision that I am experiencing makes the job of opening the container difficult but I finally manage, my heart beating wildly, to open it and then withdraw the single syringe. Without hesitation I plunge the needle that caps it into my leg and depress the plunger. The medicine within the tool disappears into my body and I withdraw the needle before dropping it onto the ground next to me.

Then I lose consciousness and find Mama waiting for me.


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Jessa! Jessa, my love. Jessa, you need to open your eyes and wake up!”

I hear Mama’s voice and the pleading within it and I struggle to comply with her request. Nothing seems to want to work and I am forced to disobey her request as I slip back into a coma.

While I lay there curled into a ball I am blissfully unaware of the world around me as life and death go on in the arena. I am unaware that the anti-venom sent to me by the sponsors has saved my life and that they now expect me to repay them by recovering, something that is out of my control for the moment.

When I awaken I am in my bed in District Nine and I rise to see Mama as she cooks breakfast for us. She turns to see that I am trying to get out of bed and places her hands on her hips while disapproval at my performance crosses her face and leaves her lips.

“I was beginning to wonder when you were going to get out of bed! Do not try the old “I’m crippled and cannot get around as quick as I used to” game. I am tired of you using the fact that you lost a leg in the Games to try to get out of work!”

Her words, and her presence, startle me and I look down to see a stump where my leg had been. A sob escapes me and she ignores this as she slams a plate down onto the table.

“Breakfast is ready,” she announces as she sits down at her own place before looking up at me with open disgust. “Use your crutch and get over here to eat! If you do not want it I am certain that your damned dog does!”

I look in the direction that she glances and see my dog, a dog that died years ago, sitting there with an “if you are not going to eat that I will” look on his face.

The crutch meant for me lies nearby and I grasp it slowly before using it to rise unsteadily. It slides under my arm and I am rewarded with a stabbing pain in my armpit. I pull it free and am stunned to see a bloody spear tip in front of my face.

“I am certain that they cleaned the venom off of it, Jessa,” she hisses at me with eyes that have slits for pupils. A long, forked tongue flicks out of her mouth as she smirks at me before she speaks again. “But then again, you never know what the Gamemakers might do to you during the Games. Maybe we will get to hear a cannon yet. Now come to the table, sit down and eat, damn you!”

Meekly I make my way slowly to the table and sit down. A glance at what is on my plate does little to meet the needs of my appetite. Pieces of meat that I cannot identify swim in a gravy of dubious origin. The bread that accompanies the “stew” is equally suspect and I watch with incredulous eyes as Mother scoops more of her portion into her mouth. When I make no move to follow suit she fixes me with a disapproving stare before speaking again.

“Are you going to eat or not?”

I glance around the room that we are sitting in and I am quite aware that we are not in our hovel. Then I find the courage to speak.

“Mama, where are we?”

She looks at me strangely before speaking.

“Oh, do not use the “I am so ill that I cannot recognize my own home” game! You know very well where you are, Jessa. You are in the Victor Home that you got for winning the Games.”

I glance around the room again and am surprised at the run-down condition of it. In many ways it reminds me of the house that I grew up in. Windows are missing their glass, shattered plaster barely clings to the walls and the floor below my feet is a mass of patches.

Our battered furniture, tables and chairs, are the only things in the room other than the stove that had always threatened to burn down our shack every time a fire was built in it.

Then Mama’s reproachful voice interrupts my thoughts again.

“Jessa! I asked you if you were going to eat what I made for breakfast. You know very well that food is scarce and that we cannot very well waste it. If you do not eat it now, it will be waiting for you at dinner time. You will just have to contend with the flies and roaches that have joined you in eating it.”

I look down at the food on the plate again before returning my gaze to Mama.

“What?” she questions. “Do not tell me that you are turning up your nose at it. There are plenty of them, but you know that rats are hard to catch. Ever since you won the games you have not been hunting them and we are left with whatever the traps catch.”

The dog sidles towards me and that is when I notice the huge chunk that has been sliced from his side, exposing the bones and internal organs that loop out and drag on the floor leaving a bloody, slimy trail as he walks. I shudder at the sight of this and my hand lifts to cover my mouth. The action does not go unnoticed my Mother, who shows her disapproval at my response.

“He gave up what he needed to, Jessa. That is how he earned his keep. It is a great deal more than you have done of late.”

“This is not real,” I say to myself, although she can hear me clearly. “This is not real and cannot be happening.”

“What in the name of Panem are you talking about, Jessa? Of course this this real! I am sitting here talking to my daughter who, by the way, seems content to waste food while others starve. We, at least, have rats to eat, some people in District Nine are not as fortunate as we are.”

“This is NOT real!” I scream as I rise unsteadily and slam my hand down onto the table, causing the dishes on it to rattle. “I have not lost my leg and this dog,” I shout as I point to the woebegone animal, “died years ago when you slaughtered him for meat and you cannot be here either, Mama!”

“And just why can I not be here, Jessa?” she replies as she fixes me with a venomous stare.

I pause as I look into a familiar and loved face that somehow looks totally alien to me before I am questioned again.

“Why can I not be here, Jessa?”

I take in a deep breath and then answer her.

“Because you are dead,” I whisper as tears flow from my eyes and down my cheeks.

“What did you say to me? Speak up, I know that I raised you better than you are acting!”

Clearing my throat and looking directly at a person whom I have missed terribly every day since her death I speak again.

“Mama, you cannot be here because you are dead.”

She recoils as though struck and then throws back her head and laughs as I have never heard before. The sound chills me and at that moment I want nothing more than to hurry from the room and escape her presence.

I am nearly out of the room, hobbled as I was, when another person appears at the doorway that I intend to use. They block the path of my retreat and I look up at the face that I recognize and somewhat fear.

“Arniss, what are you doing here?” I manage to stutter once I have recovered from the shock.

“He lives here, Jessa,” my mother answers quickly. “We are lucky because he could have let you die in the arena and let me starve here.”

“This is not happening,” I announce as my eyes search for a way out of the room.

“Jessa, Jessa, Jessa.” Arniss croons as his hand reaches out to run down my shoulder. “Is this any way to treat your father?”

“You are NOT my father,” I answer dangerously. My father abandoned us years ago and I have never met him.”

“But he IS your father, Jessa. I just could never find a way to tell you. Why do you think that he always took such an interest in you?”

I do not know what to say at this moment and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as he reaches forward to wrap his arms around my thin frame. His fetid breath threatens to smother me as I feel a hand run down my back to cover my backside possessively. Panicking, I try to pull free from his embrace but he is holding me too tightly.

“Give your father a kiss, Jessa,” Mother instructs me as I continue to struggle against the hold that Arniss on has on me.

When I do not do as asked he leans forward to plant a kiss that is nothing like a father would deliver to his daughter on my reluctant lips. This is followed by another as I try to free myself and evade the hand that is firmly holding my rear.

Finally, much to my relief, he releases me and I stagger away from him. His face is a mask of both amusement and anger as he lashes out to slap me hard across the face.

My lip split and bleeding from being abruptly shoved against my teeth I lurch past him and out of the room. Their laughter follows me as I seek escape from the house and find none. There are no doors in the room save the one that I used to enter.

I suddenly notice a door hidden in the shadows  on the opposite side of the room and hurry to it. Seizing the door knob I yank it open _and_ _step back into the kitchen that I had just escaped_.

Mother and Arniss regard my puzzled expression with amusement and do not try to stop me as I turn and walk back out of the room. I cry out as I enter the kitchen once more to find them laughing at me.

“Sit down, young lady,” my mother commands in a tone that I have never heard her use before.  "There is no way out of this house!"

“NO!”

Arniss lunges for me at that point and I lash out with the spear shaft while also fighting to retain my balance. He takes the impact hard, in a most satisfactory place, and doubles over before collapsing to the floor where he lay groaning while I prepare for the attack that the dog is mounting.

A loud screech fills the room as the animal, much like the creature in my cave, is impaled by the point of the spear. Dead already, it takes a few wobbly steps before collapsing. Arniss is still on the floor clutching his groin as I turn to face Mother. My spear is still in the corpse of the dog and I have nothing to face her with as she attacks.

“You ungrateful little bitch!” she screams as she flies over the table at me.

Defenseless, I grab the first thing that I can find to defend myself with. I seize the full plate and hurl it and its contents into her wailing face. Mother staggers backwards as she struggles to clear her eyes of the mess and, hating myself for doing it, I follow up on the attack with another.

She is close enough for me to lash out with the hand that is not clutching the back of a chair for support. The blow, one that she was not ready for, shoves her backwards and away from me. I turn my attention to Arniss, who has recovered enough to reach out and grab my leg in an effort to pull it out from under me.

His hold is broken by a dish hurled down at the top of his head. The man collapses, unconscious, back to the floor and thus leaves me once again with only one opponent remaining.

My attention is fixed on the knife that has in her hand as she once again comes over the table at me. She takes a wild and powerful swing at me as she collides with me.

I hear myself cry out as the weapon slices into my arm. Instantly blood is cascading onto the floor and desperation sets in. She intends to kill me, my own mother or whatever she is, intends to hack me to pieces with the knife. We fall to the floor as we grapple with each other for control of the weapon. My blood is making things slippery and I can feel my consciousness fading as I make one last desperate attack and feel it strike home.

She suddenly sits bolt upright from the position that she has taken while astraddle my torso. Somehow the knife had come under my control and now protrudes from her chest, courtesy of a desperate shove. Tears fill my eyes as she falls backwards, freeing me and I go to my knees as I bend over her and plead with her not to die. I saw her die once before and am not certain that I can stand to witness it again. She opens her eyes and responds with one hate-filled sentence before her life ends.

“You little bitch!”

Her breathing ceases and her eyes glaze over as I fall from where I have been kneeling. The room, the corpses of Mother and the dog and the still form of Arniss fade from my sight as darkness takes me.

I do not know how long I lay there before my eyes manage to open again. The bare earth under me offers no sign of the struggle I had gone through. A hasty look shows me that both of my legs are intact and still attached where they should be.

My clothing is soaked with sweat and I am weak, but at least I am able to move. The spear and knife lay where I dripped them and my bag is still present.

Apparently none of the other tributes came to search when the hovercraft removed the remains of the boy from Seven. If they had I, given the state that I am and was in, would very likely be dead and not very worried about my belongings.  Weakened by the injury that I had suffered and troubled by the chaotic dream that I had endured I manage to limp back to my refuge. The medicine sent by the sponsors has kept me alive, but just how long will it take for me to recover my strength?

Will I be ready to face an attack if, no more likely when, it happens? Right now I am easy dead meat and even a half-hearted attack from the weakest tribute remaining will bring my Game, and life, to an inglorious end.

I arrange the stones as best as I can manage before wrapping myself in the blanket and falling into a deep, but peaceful this time, sleep.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A loud sound makes my eyes snap open and a bright flash followed by more noise tells me that a storm has settled over the arena.

Sitting up in what passes for a bed, I unstop my water bottle and drain what it contains. Moving slowly, as fast as I can manage, I arrange the poncho so that it can catch water and settle back while I idly chew on a meat strip, followed by one of the last remaining apples.

I am incredibly weak and have no idea how much time I have spent sleeping. How many hours, or days, has the “warrior goddess” been idle? Have I been given up as being as good as dead by the sponsors? Will they cheer my killer on when the time comes? Do I even have the strength to continue the fight?

Swallowing a piece of the apple that I have been chewing I move to examine the progress of the poncho. Already, thanks to the downpour outside, there is nearly enough water to fill my water bottle. I hurry to dip the flask into the growing pool and then wait impatiently for it to fill. I am nearly beside myself as I wait for the iodine to purify the water for drinking and use some of the water from the pool to splash on my face to clear my mind. Then I turn to other things.

Frightened by what I might see, I look down at my leg and am pleasantly surprised when I see healthy flesh that is marred only by the bite marks and the cut that I had made after being bitten.

Water from my bottle is sluiced over the injury and, if only in my mind, offers me some comfort. I drink a great deal more of the water and then fill the bottle once again before purifying its contents.

I turn my attention back to the Game as I wonder again how much time passed while I lay helpless.

Clearly the Capitol has been kept entertained by the activities of the other tributes and saw no reason to send someone, or something, to my cave to make an easy kill. They want things to be interesting and I wonder what they found captivating while I was in a coma. It was quite obvious that something about my situation had kept them watching. Had I been talking in my sleep and amused them with what was said?

The rain outside invites me to venture forth and I move the stones to crawl out into the precipitation. It is cool and refreshing and I allow myself to get drenched from head to foot before I strip and allow my sweaty body to be cleaned.

Try as I might, there are parts of the dream that I cannot put out of my head.

That the dog and Mama were alive and part of the whole thing was impossible, I had seen both of them dead. But what about Arniss? What about Mama’s claim? Could it be true? Was he my father or was all of it due to the delirium that I was experiencing?

I knew that he had been a part of life in District Nine since before my birth. Mother had never really said much about my father and had NEVER mentioned his name, at least not in my presence. If anyone in District Nine knew the identity of my male parent they had kept it a closely guarded secret from the person that the information was most important to.

The prospect of Arniss being my father sickened me. Surely Mother had had more pride than to allow the likes of him to touch her. Certainly, if it were true, she would have wanted him to stay away from her young daughter. I had always been unnerved by his embraces and unwanted contact but somehow had frequently been at his home. Had Mother, especially when her time had grown short and knowing that I would be alone in the district once she was dead, wanted me to get closer to my father?

I gather my clothing and then slip back into the cave to rest. The rocks that I slide into place camouflage the entrance and I am confident in my safety as I slowly dry.

My body was safe, but my mind is in turmoil and there is nothing that I can do about it. The thought of questioning Arniss, if I got home, frightens me. What do I do if he does tell me that he sired me? What do I do then? The thought of having to acknowledge the fact that he is my father makes me ill and I actually believe that allowing myself to die in the Games might be a better option.

I finally dress in the damp clothes and, after moving the stones once again, I pack my bag and venture outside.

She may be weak and still a bit ill but the “warrior goddess” is on the move once again.

I am grateful for the rain as it masks my approach while I trudge through it. It also hides any potential opponent but the prospect that I am dealing with has me angry enough to take on anyone that I encounter.

As I walk I catch something out of the corner of my eye and I turn in time to see a hastily extinguished light in a window of one of the buildings. I had been ignoring and even avoiding them as they would make a great place to stage an ambush. Angered already, I put those doubts aside and set course for the structures.

Not much distance has been covered when the rain stops and the sky clears to allow the sun to blaze down. Cursing the weather, naturally occurring or man-made, that is now spotlighting my approach I continue forward.

As I advance I consider what or who I might encounter. The possibility of it being another tribute is high. The buildings area wonderful vantage point and likely will be difficult to penetrate.

My fingers drop into my pocket to retrieve one of the stones that I have been carrying. I remove my headband as I enter what I hope is a blind spot and then slip around the corner while also trying to stay under cover.

The sound of movement reaches my ears as something within a building shifts and then falls. I do not hear voices but the sound is definite. There is no way to enter the building that I can see from where I am. Moving until I am directly under the window where I saw the light I take in a deep breath while I think about my options and how to handle what is coming.

The sound of movement repeats itself and I realize that it sounds as though it is getting closer instead of moving away. Ducking under a window I manage to catch a glimpse inside through the remaining glass. I watch as a door inside closes, animals do not close doors and now I am convinced that a game of cat and mouse has begun and that the loser of the game will die.

Considering the possibility that my opponent has gone to an upper level and might have a bow to use against me I scurry across the street to make the shadows there work for me. Slowly I make my way to a position where I have some cover but can still see my objective.

Apparently this move has confused my adversary because I catch glimpses of movement in upper windows and I prepare myself. My heart races as I see a window slowly rise and can see a human shaped form.

I cannot see them well, their face has been darkened and they are wearing something to break up the outline of their body. But I have a target if I can get a clear enough shot.

Dropping the stone into my sling I move to a better position and catch sight of a sudden movement that scares me.

A whispering hiss breaks the air and I flinch backwards as an arrow hits the ground where I had just been. The sight of it quivering in front of me reinforces just how dangerous this game is.

I see my attacker more clearly as he tries to catch sight of me again. Not wanting to waste one of the sling stones I remove the one from the sling and replace it with a jagged ill formed rock that I had dislodged from the ground while moving. I whirl the sling and then release the cargo to send it sailing away from my position.

I hear the clatter that it makes as it strikes the side of a building while I am dropping another stone into the sling. Movement closer to the window tells me that the person in the building has heard it too. They have to be nervous, afraid that I will find a way to get behind them.

The next stone leaves my headband to crash through a window, shattering the glass and making a tremendous amount of noise in the process. My opponent moves closer to the window, close enough for a good shot. The archer sees me just as a stone leaves my sling and our missiles pass each other in flight.

Shoulder rolling to evade the arrow I hear the noise as it passes over me. I hear a cry as the person that I face is not as fortunate as I was and takes a strike from the stone.

I have another stone in my sling as I move to a better position. The archer has fired twice and the girl at the Cornucopia had fired arrows at least three times. I know that I had seen only one quiver containing twelve arrows, if they were like the quivers in the Training Center. Unless they had retrieved arrows from the corpses after the bloodbath, the archer that I face is down to around seven arrows. There are more than enough to kill me, but few than he had had and now he may be injured.

My only concern other than the number of arrows is the number of opponents that I face. If the archer is alone the fight is more or less even, but if I face a group and this is merely a scout or sentry I might have bitten off more than I can chew.

Keeping to the shadows has the archer wondering where I am. If I caused injury they are also likely nervous and trying to determine where I will strike from next.

Another jagged stone is sent on its way to bounce off of the window sill there the arrows are originating from. A wildly fired arrow, likely launched from a prematurely drawn bow, sails through the air to land in the center of the street.

That means six down, I hope.

A more carefully aimed projectile catches me by surprise as it grazes my arm. I have either been seen or the archer got lucky. Either way it angers me and I sent a sling stone back in response.

The stone shatters the window in front of the archer, likely showering them with sharp pieces of glass and distracting them. I see a figure that is obviously trying to clear away the shards and not paying much attention to me.

By the time that attention returns to me another stone is on its way. It slams into the window frame causing it to fall with a crash. While the person I face regroups from this I send a jagged stone at them.

A cry of alarm precedes an arrow lodging itself in the ceiling of the room that the archer is in. I am hoping that they only have four left to use.

The archer has apparently also thinking about this as well for they have been aiming. I had broken not only a window but also their concentration. This may have saved my life. I know now how to enter the building and want nothing more than to end this contest.

As I duck into the building through a lower level window I hear movement somewhere above me. The game has shifted as long ranged weapons lose some of their value. There is no doubt that a close in fight is coming and I am prepared to drop my sling in favor of the spear or my knife.

I curse as a floorboard creaks and announces where I am. A set of stairs is before me and this fills me with concern. I will be at a disadvantage going up the stairs and likely to die with an arrow protruding from some vital part of my body.

Indeed, the Gamemakers have to be preparing to fire cannon for one of the two of us. It is just a matter of which one it shall be. Likely the audience watching the scene unfold is on the edge of their seats and those who break the law by taking bets are watching anxiously to see how much they can collect or have to pay out.

Uncertain how to advance without being skewered I ponder the situation. I am committed to the attack now because if I step back out into the street I am an easy target.

A piece of broken masonry lying on the floor gives me a thought. It is soon crashing through a door and into another room raising a huge cloud of dust and making noise. The noise is wonderful but it is the dust that I am interested in. I take a deep breath before it billows around me and am swiftly on the move. The dust cloud swarms up the stairs obstructing the view of the archer.

I swarm up the stairs too.

Suddenly I am where this person never expected me to be. I dodge an arrow hastily sent my way and lash out with the spear.

We both know that there is no backing out of the fight now, no way to change our minds about what is going to happen. There is no reason to expect for quarter or mercy either. The game that we are playing now, much like the Hunger Games that brought it to be necessary, can have only one winner.

Very soon one of us will be dead.

As we circle one another, eyes never leaving the other, I watch as the person that I face drops the bow and draws forth a sword. Now the situation is critical.

It will begin any moment now as we both look for a moment of indecision, of hesitation. The spear shaft in my hands seems to weigh a thousand pounds and my mouth has gone dry. My eyes watch the sword that the archer wields as it weaves a path through the air.

Neither of us speak as the time for talking is long past. That opportunity was when we were in the Training Center, in the arena there is no time for chat. Especially at a time like the one that we are living.

Suddenly my opponent lunges at me as the sword slices through the air. Dodging the strike and shoving the sword away with the spear tip I trade places with him. But there is no pause now. A second lunge brings the sword perilously close to removing my face and I hear the ring of metal on metal as the spear tip and sword meet.

The fight turns into a spinning chaotic clash as we trade attacks. I am sweating gallons as I duel for my very existence and I am certain that the other person is doing the same.

The swords swings low as the archer attempts to eviscerate me and I am reminded of the death of the girl during the bloodbath. Memories of the sight of her on her knees with her intestines falling out through the wound resurface. I make an equally savage slash with the spear as the tip of the sword slices through my sleeve and I feel pain.

Blood runs down my arm as I fight on and with more determination. This is the real thing and I am very certain that the audience that is watching is glued to the scene. My blood seems to have encouraged the person that intends to end my life and another lunge with the blade nearly decapitates me as he swings high.

And gives me the opportunity that I needed.

A nanosecond pf opportunity was all that I needed and I lunge forward leading with the spear. Almost in slow motion I watch as the tip strikes his vulnerable belly and then disappears into his flesh. He staggers backwards losing the sword, which clatters to the floor, and his hands go down to the spear shaft.

He drops to his knees as blood runs across the floor in an ever widening pool. Without thinking I pull the spear free which accelerates the spread of gore.

“Jessa!”

My eyes widen as he finally speaks and I recognize his voice. Stepping forward, knife drawn, I reach out to pull back the mask which had disguised him. The pain filled eyes of Geoff Petar look up at me as he whispers a request.

“Jessa, help me please, I don’t want to die.”

Tears fill my eyes as I realize that there is nothing that I CAN do and nothing that the Capitol WILL do to save his life.

“I am sorry, Geoff, there is nothing that I can do to save you.”

He abruptly lunges for the knife that I hold and there is a brief struggle between two weakening tributes. The loss of blood is going to kill him while I still struggle against the after effects of the venom.

He manages to get the knife from me and at first I believe that he will use it to attack. Instead he suddenly lifts it to drag it across his throat. Blood sprays from the wound in the torn flesh and he pitches forward before rolling over onto his back. I watch helplessly as the light goes out of his eyes and his breathing stops. A moment later a cannon sounds to signal his death.

I gather the knife and spear and am almost ready to leave when I remember the bow. Gathering it and the quiver I hurry to retrieve any arrows that I can before leaving the area.

As if on cue a hovercraft appears and I watch as he is retrieved.

“Goodbye Geoff,” I manage to whisper as I stumble away from the place where I had killed someone from my own district.

I can only imagine the reception that I will get if I manage to go home and have to face Geoff’s family.

Bandaging my arm as best I can to staunch the blood flowing down my arm, I make my way back to camp. The “warrior goddess” has had enough of death today.

Along the way I keep a careful watch for any unpleasant surprises. No Muttations appear to assail me and I see no tributes even distantly, so I am free to watch the trail ahead of and around me for snakes. When the cave appears before me I cautiously peer into it to check for potential attack and then enter.

Great sobs escape me as I huddle inside the cave. Once again I have ended a life but this time I had intended to. I had gone into the fight with the intention of killing the person that I encountered. But the fact that the other person was from my district makes the event all the harder.

My eyes finally close and I fall into a sleep that is interrupted by the anthem starting. I crawl to the entrance and then gasp as the face of the girl from District One appears. This means that I have one less Career to face and I wonder how she died. Have the Careers begun to turn on each other already? Or did she fall victim to some other fate?

Then Geoff’s face appears in the night sky and I sob as I look into eyes that I had seen die not long ago. No doubt the other tributes are wondering how he died.

When the anthem ends I replace the rocks and then return to my resting place. I have lost track of time and have no idea how many days have passed in the arena and how many more tributes remain to be dealt with.

I close my eyes again and this time I manage to remain asleep. But before sleep takes me I resolve to go hunting tomorrow.

Whether it be for food or for tribute I do not care.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The snake that I find in my cave in the morning dies swiftly and is soon roasting over a spit. I am finding the honing stone to be an efficient knife, even though I possess one.

That knife has had its blade coated with venom and is now resting on a nearby rock as it dries. A quick check of my water bottle while I wait for breakfast tells me that I must visit the pool that I found days ago.

I find myself wondering if sources of water will begin to disappear as the Gamemakers try to push the remaining tributes closer to each other. Nothing will provoke a fight quicker than desperation and the need for water. More than Hunger Game has ended in a free for all when tributes dying of thirst waged full scale war to obtain a tiny amount of the liquid.

With Geoff’s bow out of the Game a serious threat has been removed. Unless there is another bow, and I have no reason to believe that there is; my headband has become the longest ranged weapon remaining. It can strike without warning and daily practice with it has made me lethal with it.

I look at the bow again as it rests in a corner of the cave. There is no denying that I am horrible with it, being almost as much of a threat to myself as I am to anyone else. It should have been left with Geoff’s body because it would have been taken with him if it had. Now I am forced to find a place to conceal it so that none of the other tributes can find it and use it against me.

The meat smells wonderful and will be a welcome addition to the apple that will join it in my belly. I have only two of the pieces of fruit remaining and they are beginning to deteriorate. It is either eat them or have to discard them, something that I cannot afford to do.

Pulling the meat from the fire I let it cool for a time before beginning to eat. All the while I eat I keep a watch out through the opening to my home.

Thoughts of home assail me as I eat. Mother would have ensured that her daughter was fed, even at the possibility of going hungry herself. We had eaten many snakes during my childhood as they were more than plentiful and the Peacekeepers refused to punish people who killed them. The reptiles were a danger to everyone and not protected in any way. I learned early to respect the creatures but not to fear them.

The meat eaten I turn my attention to the apple. It has begun to dry out and will not last much longer. I savor the fruit and what little juice it can provide.

When I am finished I hurry to make the cave look more natural before setting out for the day. Immediately I set course for the best place to hide the bow and quiver of arrows. It would take a lot to search my intended hiding spot and I doubt that anyone will even attempt to do so.

The pool with its valuable water is visited first after I drain my bottle of the purified water. I approach carefully with a stone ready in my sling and see no sign of any other tributes. A sudden noise makes me jump and I find myself on my belly until I realize that I have heard a cannon. Someone’s Game and life have come to an end. I wonder which district will be mourning tonight.

Plunging my hand and bottle into the water I listen with satisfaction to the sound of the water gurgling into the vessel. When almost no more will enter it I pull the bottle out of the pool and settle down to treat the water with iodine. The necessary drops vanish into the liquid life and both bottles are corked before being tucked into my pack.

I rise from where I am sitting, gather my things and make the journey to my next destination. It is not far and very soon the bow and quiver are neatly hidden. No one will look at this spot and think to themselves that they need to search it for weapons, but I know exactly where I have hidden my cache. It is fairly easy to get to but well hidden.

The smoke from the fire at the Cornucopia is still rising black against the sky as I think about the cannon that I had heard earlier.

Were the Careers on the hunt like I was?

This morning I had risen from my bed ready for a fight, actually I had been looking for one. I found myself hoping to encounter someone for my sling; spear and knife were all ready. Through experimentation I had found the best arrangement for everything. Now I could carry it all with little effort and have anything I needed or wanted easily accessible. This was important because my life might depend upon it.

Somehow I found myself on a course back towards the scene of the bloodbath. I slow my approach as I near it to watch for traps and snakes. Ambush is another concern as I remain vigilant for any opposition. I can hear voices, loud voices as I get closer to their camp and finally I am on my belly as I watch them from a distance.

A girl, one of the Careers, is arguing fiercely with the others in her group. I cannot clearly make out what they are saying but it is certainly an argument.

Abruptly the argument ceases as the girl suddenly reaches for her arm and then brings that searching hand back red with blood. I am fascinated as I watch as my dream is played out and the girl collapses face down into the dirt.

Her companions mill about in confusion before one of them shouts and points at something that he has seen. He and his companion draw their weapons as a cannon is fired for the dead girl and race towards whatever was noticed.

I watch as a flurry of movement takes place and then a tribute races from concealment. From my vantage point I can see it all unfold while remaining hidden. While the others are away from the camp I witness the removal of the corpse and can gaze with envy at the stockpile of food that they still have. The temptation is too great to ignore and I am suddenly rising and then racing for their camp.

When I arrive there I take quick stock of the situation. More food than I have seen since leaving the Capitol is before me and I can hear the sounds of pursuit fading in the distance.

Not knowing exactly how many of the Careers remain or how soon they will return I shake myself out of the state of disbelief that I am in. I work quickly to gather as much food as I can and then stuff it into my bag. All the while that I do this I am watching over my shoulder for their return.

Soon I am racing away from the camp with my belongings, both old and new. In the distance I can hear the sounds of fighting and this draws me like a moth to a lit candle. When I arrive at the scene I see a hopelessly outmatched girl fighting the boys from the Cornucopia. She is giving good account of herself but really stands very little chance of survival. While I know that there is no chance of an ally resulting from it I prepare to plunge into the fray.

Dropping my pack I rise and, screaming like a banshee, race forward with my spear leading the way to the attack.

The male tribute closest to me turns to me, startled, as I strike. He lashes out with his sword, nearly severing my hand as the blade connects with the shaft of the spear. I jerk violently away dragging the sword from his hand as I whirl and lead with the staff end.

His companion is busy with the other girl. Free from having to face two opponents at the same time she is rallying and making him reconsider his course of attack.

I strike with the staff, numbing his arm as the solid wood slams into his shoulder. He falls back and frantically claws for his knife. Remembering mine and its lethal payload, I drop the spear while dragging the weapon from my belt.

In District Nine fights, especially with weapons, are rare but they do happen. My young eyes have seen men, and women, slashed with razor sharp blades fashioned from discarded farming tools. Blood is always spilled in these incidents, sometimes in large amounts, which can lead to death for the loser and always death for the winner. The loser, if he too had a contraband knife, is patched up before being shot as well.

The tribute that I face lunges at me carving the air with his knife blade. He is off balance already and a sudden shove from me as well as an extended foot throws him into a cartwheel of arms and legs.

I hear a scream and turn to see the girl on her knees with the other male tribute standing over her. She is dead, I know this, and I now regret entering the fight. Once she is gone I will be the one facing two opponents.

My own opponent has regained himself and slashes out at me once again. The battle continues and the sound of metal against metal rings through the air as I block his plunging attack before slashing at him with my own blade. He leaps backward to evade the knife and I have no choice but the press the attack. Like the fight with Geoff, neither of us has the luxury of being able to turn tail and run. A knife thrown at your retreating back can kill you just as surely as one shoved into your chess.

His leap backwards costs him ground and I watch as he tumbles head over heels down a slope. A louder scream behind me makes me turn and take in what has happened.

The girl that I had assumed was as good as dead has turned the tables on her would-be killer. Her knife now projects from his belly and he is lying on his back while she hammers at his head with a pumpkin sized rock. He really is not moving anymore, and will not ever move again under his own power, as the cannon roars.

She rises from his remains covered with blood and then, after gathering what she can and shooting me a malicious glare, vanishes into the brush.

My former opponent is laid low by a stone from my sling. He doubles over at the impact to his midsection which gives me a chance to escape back to my pack and out of the action. No doubt alone now at the Cornucopia his Game has changed as he will be hard pressed to defend it against raids like the one that I had performed.

Three tributes have died today and I still have no idea how many remain for me to potentially face.

I make every effort to move away from the scene of the carnage as quickly as I can while also being certain that I am not being followed or tracked. While I am not totally certain I believe that the girl that I assisted was from District Twelve. Our time in the Capitol and Training Center allowed us to become somewhat familiar with who was from what district but all of our appearances had changed.

We are all, Careers included, gaunt versions of the well-fed tributes that had started the Games only days ago. Lack of food and water or just plain rest was taking a toll on all of us. From what I had seen, even with plentiful food, the Careers were actually in worse shape than the rest of us.

The chance of betrayal within their alliance was high which meant that they had to almost sleep with their eyes open to prevent having their throats slit at night. I had more to fear from the reptilian snakes that those of the human variety.

My cave appears before me as I wonder for the first time what weapon the girl had used to strike at the camp. Whatever it had been, it had been silent and long-ranged. This made me wonder if she too had managed to get her hands on a bow. The thought of this frightened me. Even more frightening was the evidence that whatever she had used had been coated with snake venom.

The girl that had been struck had died like the boy that had been bitten by the snake and the creature outside my cave during the storm. All of this made the girl appear to be extremely dangerous, which was contrary to what we had all believed during training. She had actually appeared to avoid many of the more hazardous exercises and no one thought that she would survive long. Odds had been totally against her surviving the bloodbath at the Cornucopia but here she was.

Clearly if we were to ever encounter each other again I needed to be ready to strike first and without hesitation or mercy.

I crawl into my cave, replace the stones and then go through my bag. Food of several varieties spills out and I understand that I am now in a much better position than ever before in the Game. Starvation is no longer a probability but detection has now become more of a possibility. There cannot be many of us remaining which means that active searching has really begun.

Just like I had this morning everyone left will be on the prowl trying to find any other tributes. We are close to the final showdowns and they will be brutal affairs. For some reason she had decided not to strike at me but I can be certain that this will not happen again.

The remainder of the day is spent considering what I will do next. As far as I know there is only one Career left in the Games. I can only account for the three of us, the boy Career, the girl from Twelve and myself. Sooner or later the action will die down enough that the Gamemakers will decide that it is time to force the final confrontations.

I can only assume that they will decide to close this cave that has become my refuge at some point so that I cannot use it any longer.

If past Games are any indication of things to come we can expect more visits from Mutts. The possibility of “natural” occurrences such as fires, earthquakes or extreme weather is also not out of the question.

Making use of some of the liberated food from the Cornucopia I rebuild my strength. I am swallowing the remains of my last apple when the anthem begins and I hurry to look out as the first face appears.

The boy from Two appears, I remember him clearly from training but cannot recall his name. Equally faint in my memory is the girl from District Two. What I remember about her is her cruelty and arrogant mannerisms. Finally the face of the boy from District Ten appears. He had evidently been the one who had died earlier in the day when I was getting water. But who or what had killed him?

I close the entrance to my cave and huddle in my blanket. Mother is waiting for me in my dreams with the smile that I remember so well.

“Jessa, my love.”

“Mama, I might actually get a chance to do it! I might actually win this and go home to District Nine.”

She nods at me as she smiles brightly.

“I knew that you were stronger than you believed that you were. You have it in you to win, Jessa. You have it in you to go home and live the life of a victor. I want you to live in one of those fine houses in a way that I could never provide.”

“Can I live in District Nine again with all of the things that I have done?” I ask as doubt about my future fills my mind again. “I killed Geoff Petar, Mama, I killed him as I looked him in the eyes.”

“Jessa, he would have killed you! If you had not killed him he would have killed you! Did he have a chance to defend himself? Did he have a weapon?”

“Yes, he had a weapon, Mama. Then he took my knife from me and cut his own throat with it, I could not do anything to stop what happened. But that happened after I had shoved a spear into his belly.”

“He chose a quicker death, Jessa.”

“But if I had not done what I did he would not have had to.”

“And then you would be the dead one, Jessa.”

“I know, Mama, but I cannot stop thinking about it. I can still see the look in his eyes when he begged me to save him.”

“Could you have saved his life?”

“No, the wound was too bad and he was bleeding too much. He was as good as dead when he took the knife.”

“Then stop tormenting yourself over it! You did what you had to do, what he would have done of the situation was reversed. Let it go, Jessa, let it go and move on with the things that are more important.”

I pause before asking a difficult question and she seems to know that I am troubled over something.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Jessa?”

“Who is my father?”

“Jessa,” she answers with a sigh. “We have been over this before and I am going to tell you what I told you before. It is not important that you know. He is not a part of your life and never will be.”

“Mama, tell me the truth! Is Arniss my father? Is that why you always sent me to visit him? Was it so that he could spend time with his daughter?”

She sighs again before answering, her words carefully guarded.

“It was a long time ago, Jessa.”

“Is he my father? Just tell me please.”

“Jessa.”

I can see the tears in her eyes and the truth hits me like a boulder. Arniss Mitt, the filthy, drunken small amount of a man is my father.

“It’s true,” I finally say, “Arniss is my father. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was no need for you to know, Jessa. Knowing the identity of your father would have changed you into someone that I did not know. Let it go, Jessa, let it go when you get back to District Nine. Stay away from him, Jessa, ignore him, do not let it consume your life. If you let it haunt you for the rest of your life you will never be able to find peace.”

“I am not certain that there is any peace to find, Mama. I volunteered for these Games to end my life and then I decided to fight to live. Now I have to wonder which one was the right choice to make.”

“Jessa, you chose the right thing when you decided to survive.” I can hear the desperation in her voice. “Please do not do something that will jeopardize your future. Arniss is in your past, leave him there.”

“I understand, Mama.”

“Good.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“And I love you, Jessa.”

She smiles at me before fading and I awake with my mind full of the truth and determination.

Arniss is my father, I know this now, and I intend to win this Game so that I can go home to District Nine.

And then our own Hunger Games can begin and I fully intend to kill Arniss Mitt.

_Even if he is my father._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Breakfast the next morning follows the killing of two snakes that had been found in my cave. I have recovered more of my strength and the food from the Cornucopia has aided in this. 

I enjoy cheese that I had managed to liberate, along with some bread, as I wonder how many of us are left.

The boy from District One had been fortunate. I had sent the stone at his head and missed. The disappointment at this mild failure had been overwhelmed by the idea of what I had managed to take from him. Loss of food was a serious matter and, although I had not taken enough to deprive him of nourishment completely, I was quite certain that he was lamenting what was missing.

Now he would be forced to decide whether to continue to be an active threat or to stay and try to defend what he and his allies had claimed. Certainly the Gamemakers will not allow him to remain safe in camp rather than going out to excite the audience.

Remaining idle is a good way to call the Mutts down upon you. Everyone knows this, how can they not, we have all seen things like this happen as the Games are required viewing.

No, he will likely go on an offensive strike of his own. My cave is at least defendable, no matter how it is attacked. Even moving stones to block the entrance will expose someone to stones from my sling. My spear is also a threat to be contended with.

I finish my breakfast and then gather the spear and the knife before setting out for the day.

Barely two meters out of my cave I have the uncomfortable feeling that trouble has found me and a sudden nearly silent sound tells me that I am right. My knife waits in my belt as I whirl in that direction to see movement, movement that is too swift to be human.

A horrific screech precedes the flying attack as the Mutt launches itself at me. Alerted, I swing the tip end at the creature and manage to gouge a furrow along the underside as it passes. Dropping and rolling with this attack I come back to my feet to meet the next assault.

This Mutt does not blindly attack, but rather slowly circles while seeming to size me up and eye the spear. It does not seem to want to have to contend with the venom that coats the blade, the venom that his already killing the first Mutt to attack. Its dying howls echo through the air and make me hope that others of its kind do not come in response.

This moment of distraction nearly kills me as the Mutt leaps at me, dodging the spear that I lunge belatedly with. I have been in the position that I now find myself in before. Fights in District Nine have taught me a few tricks and, as the Mutt knocks me onto my back, my legs and feet come up between its flailing rear legs to lodge against its belly. A quick flip sends it hurtling out of control through the air.

Screeching its rage, the wailing cat vanishes into my cave. I barely have time to regain my footing before the hissing fury emerges from the opening. In desperation, I lunge with my spear, and miss. The tip bounces off of a rock above the flattened ears and I retreat as I claw for my knife frantically.

Movement behind me tells me that I am being surrounded and will soon face another assailant. The thing behind me launches itself and my very exposed back and I allow myself to drop flat onto the ground to confound the attack.

The Mutt, moving too quickly to stop, flies over my prone form and slams into the creature that is emerging from my cave, and the rock that I had struck with my spear. 

Both Mutts vanish into the cave and a moment later, in a cloud of dust and falling rock, the opening of the cave vanishes in a small avalanche.

I gather myself as I prepare for the next attack and then gaze with astonishment, and some sadness, at where the mouth of the cave had been.

A paw hangs limply from under a large stone and I can hear loud screeching from inside the tiny cavern.

I break out of my daze as another Mutt lunges at me and I feel claws rake against my leg as the knife that I wield removes an ear from the head of the beast. Insane with the pain of the sudden amputation, the Mutt whirls in a tight circle forgetting about me, as it bites at unseen enemies. Fearful of getting close enough to use the spear I drop a stone from the nearby ground into my sling and send it hurtling towards this still lethal enemy. The rock from my sling impacts its skull and it collapses to the ground before a thrust from my knife ends its struggles.

I sense movement behind me in time to dodge another attack. The Mutt misses me by inches only and I catch a glimpse of raking claws as they pass me. I flinch backwards as they miss my face and instinctively lash out with my knife while preparing to hurl the spear.

Growling savagely, the Mutt eyes the knife and spear that I hold as we circle each other. I am certain that it will soon pounce when a noise behind it distracts it long enough for me to strike. Throwing all of my meager weight behind it I charge with the spear and can only thank my luck as I run the abomination through with the weapon. It snarls weakly as it collapses and then dies.

No more attacks follow and, shaking with both fatigue and fear, I retrieve the spear from the carcass. The frenzied screeching from the cave reaches my ears and I hurry to leave the scene of the battle behind me.

I am totally exposed now because any refuge that the cave offered is gone.

There is no time to feel sorry for myself. New shelter must be found and swiftly. The buildings are out of the question for they are much too obvious and would invite examination. I also do not wish to revisit the place where I killed someone from my own district.

Wandering aimlessly will only get me killed. I would either be tracked down by Mutts and overwhelmed or eliminated by one of the other remaining tributes.

As I search the countryside with my eyes I consider the area near the mud pool. There are a few rocky areas that would make passable refuge. True, there were no caves like the one that I had lost but the spots did offer a vantage point to keep watch from. There were also places where I would be concealed while sleeping.

The sound of a scream in the distance and then a cannon firing reaches my ears and signals another death. There was no doubt that the Game would continue while I searched for a new home. I just had to wonder which tribute was now going to make that final trip home in a Capitol supplied box.

Were there only two of us remaining now?

I walk carefully through the brush, keeping an eye out for snakes, as the cave behind me continues to echo with the fury of the trapped Mutt. Of course, once the Games were over, the cave would be reopened so that tourists could vicariously live my life there on their own. I put this out of my mind as the screeches grow faint while I put distance behind me and I wonder if I can expect another attack soon.

If there ARE only two of us remaining the Gamemakers will definitely try to force a final confrontation soon. The idea of two tributes wandering around the arena until they encounter each other by chance would not appeal to the audience and viewers would lose interest. This is not what the Capitol wants.

Were the Mutts at the cave sent to nudge me out into the open? If they had been they had accomplished their mission beautifully. So what if a few of them died, casualties to Mutts did not concern the Gamemakers, they would simply make more to replace the losses.

As I think about this I think about home. No doubt Geoff’s remains are back in District Nine by now. His family has had a chance to see the body and I wonder if I am being blamed for his death.

It had been an even fight that could have gone either way. I could just as easily be the corpse in the box because only luck had prevented my death. Geoff would likely have won the fight had he not swung high with the sword and, in doing so, exposed his belly to the spear.

The rocky area that I am bound for appears before me. Slowing my approach I carefully examine the area for ambush. The last thing that I need now is to face an attack that I am unprepared for. I have yet to recover from the attack at the cave and the walk here has exhausted me further. There is also the injury to my leg that I must tend to.

My objective beckons me and I climb up the slight hill until I stand at the bottom of the huge boulders. Cautiously I climb up the short path until I reach a spot where I can be at least partially concealed from searching eyes and protected from bad weather.

I am nearly settled in when I hear a sound that makes my heart nearly stop. There is only one thing here in the arena that makes this sound. Creeping out of my new hiding place I peer towards the direction that the sound is coming from.

Two Mutts are moving towards my location and will be on me soon. One disappears from my view as they split up and I realize that it has started up the other path towards my refuge. Very soon I will face another attack from two directions.

Once again I huddle into a corner to protect my back. If I have to fight, and it appears that I will, I want my opponents to be at the disadvantage. My location will make them have to attack me one at a time and constrict where they can move.

I will also be restricted in my movement but this is my only choice. There is no way, given my condition, that I can fight them in the open. I would die swiftly at the assault.

A rustling noise, followed by a light rain of dust and tiny rocks, comes from above me. I see an ominous shadow appear on a rock and watch as it moves; obviously the thing that is casting it is searching for something.

My knife clears my belt as I prepare for the inevitable. Movement to my left tells me that very soon the things will be on me.

Abruptly a fur covered belly blocks my view as the Mutt above me leaps down on the attack. Slashing claws whirl past my face and as I shrink back I lash out with my knife. A spray of blood covers me and I have the image of spilling entrails before my eyes. Agonized screams sound as the Mutt falls in a nearly helpless heap and as it has to walk on the gore and organs that until recently had been contained in its abdomen.

The horrific noise that it makes as it dies draws its companion. As I prepare myself for battle the second Mutt charges into the fray. 

With ears laid back and fangs bared in a snarl, the Mutt lashes out at me with both front claw loaded paws. I know that I must avoid these weapons at all costs and lunge with the spear. The Mutt grabs at the shaft with its mouth and paws, dragging the weapon from my grasp in the process.

Suddenly minus my longer weapon and fearing what will come soon, I seize a rock nearby and hurl it at the abomination’s face. Somehow I score a hit and the Mutt, shaking its head wildly, backs away in haste.

This brief respite allows me to regain the spear. Weakening rapidly because of exhaustion after two fights, an injury and the walk here, I know that I must end this contest and fast. If I cannot do this the remaining tributes or tribute will hear the cannon that is fired for me.

Angered by my attack and bleeding, the Mutt slaps at me with claws extended. I strike at the paw and score again. Another howl of pain sounds as I inflict a wound on the animal, or whatever it is. It charges at me and catches the staff end of the spear between the eyes. Whirling the weapon swiftly I land a solid strike on the top of the creature’s head. This attack staggers the cat and, as it falls back, I press the advantage as I swing again.

This strike drives the Mutt to the ground seemingly out of the fight but I know that I must finish this opponent. The spear whirls again and I skewer the Mutt, pinning it to the earth. Bright red blood sprays from its mouth and it grows totally limp as it dies.

I withdraw the spear and stagger backwards to prepare for any further combat. When no more Mutts hurtle to the attack I allow myself a chance to breathe and then drink a healthy swallow of water before sitting down to tend to my injury. More of the water is used to clean my wound and then a dose of iodine is applied to the damage. I wince as it stings fiercely and then scan my surroundings as I put my belongings back into my pack.

My heart is just starting to slow to something approaching a normal pulse when I see something that makes it speed up again. The first Mutt to die is moving again and I prepare for it to somehow attack.

Then I see that it is not moving under its own power.

Large insects that I have never seen before have converged on the carcass and are burrowing into it with enormous mandibles. I watch with fascination for a moment until that fascination becomes terror.

Do these insects, whatever they are, differentiate between living and dead flesh?

I watch with incredulous eyes as the remains collapse in upon themselves. Insects emerge from between now visible bones and this has happened in less than a minute. The carcass has been reduced to a near skeleton incredibly fast and the second Mutt is in nearly the same condition. With alarm I notice that many of the insects are now moving in my direction in a growing swarm. Knowing that I do not want to be eaten alive I move quickly to rise and then move away from them. I find that the path before me is filling with more of the things.

I have never seen anything like this before and now understand that these must be more Capitol created Mutts. They had been sent, as the cats had been, to scare me out of hiding and back into the fight, which at the moment is a fight to avoid being dinner for bugs. Managing a vault that gets me clear of the majority of the creatures I set a course for a place where I hope to be safe. The mud hole, even though I do not know the depth of it, could provide a sanctuary and I run for it as quickly as I can as more of the creatures appear around me.

The mud pool appears before me and I dive into it head first. I am just ahead of the insects and feel fortunate when they do not follow me. Instead they stop at the edge of it and mill about in apparent frustration at the loss of living meat. Covered from head to toe with the thick mud I am relieved when I find that I can touch the bottom of the pool with my feet.

Moving cautiously backwards I stay prepared for the bottom of the pool to drop off. I use my hands to cover my flesh with more mud while I watch the insects clean the blood from the weapons that I have dropped. They finally move on when there is nothing more to consume.

My pack, still attached to my back, is filled with mud. For this I am grateful because the insects could not reach the food that I had in it. I continue to explore the mud hole and find that it extends a distance back from the edge.

The danger passed, I finally move back to dry ground to retrieve the things that I have dropped and then return to this unlikely safety. In arriving at my location, I find a ledge that is both wide and long enough to accommodate a very tired fourteen year old girl. It is not long before I have climbed up onto the ledge and have begun to take stock of the contents of my pack.

As each item is pulled out of the pack and carefully place it on the ledge. I cannot afford to lose anything and am grateful to find everything present. It is all covered with mud but still usable.

Most importantly I find my water flask and container of iodine. My life would be made extremely difficult, if not over, if I were to lose either one of these things. They are as important as the weapons that I possess and the food that I eat in sustaining me.

I clean everything as best as I can while also dumping the mud from inside my pack. There is no way, short of immersion in water to clean the things and that means a trip to the water hole. This is something that I need to do regardless of what happens next. My water bottle is nearly half empty and needs to be refilled.

The beginning of the anthem makes me drop back into the pool and hurry to the opening. Someone died today and I need to know who. Was it the girl from District Twelve?

I am both relieved and disappointed when the face of the female tribute from District Four appears. This means that one less tribute remains in the Games, but also means that there are more tributes still in the Games that I had believed.

As the anthem comes to an end I slip back through the mud to the ledge. It is far enough back that I cannot be easily seen from outside. The fact that I too am covered with mud offers me camouflage. I can see any of the other tributes or other threats while being safely hidden. This may be valuable in preserving my life.

As I eat quietly, trying to ignore the mud that I am ingesting with the food, I think about what has to be coming.

Sooner or later, in an effort to make the finale happen, the Gamemakers will force those tributes that remain into a final fight. They will use a number of things to do this, some expected while others totally out of the realm of belief.

I have, as everyone has, seen water sources eliminated to produce thirst. Leaving only one place to obtain water will force us together. They might also employ Mutts to eliminate some of the survivors.

It is going to happen and happen soon. I can only hope that I am ready for it.

I fall asleep that night wrapped in my blanket and wondering what will come next.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

The night is not particularly restful and I find myself mourning the loss of the cave. While it would have not offered the protection from the insects that my current stronghold does it was far more inviting. In the cave I could build a small fire to cook over and also warm myself while still remaining concealed but here this is not a possibility. A fire is possible but it would be far more noticeable from a viewer outside.

I also have no way to arrange the poncho to collect rainwater. If I need the liquid, and I do, I must journey to the waterhole and expose myself to possible attack. This, the insects and the cats are proof positive that the Gamemakers are hard at work keeping me on my toes and the audience entertained.

There is no use denying the fact that soon we who remain will be forced to face off against each other. That was already a given but before we had been able to go our own ways within the arena. I was very certain that that would change and soon.

I awake to find that the mud that coats me from head to toe has dried to a large extent and now is flaking off with my movements. This will not matter much as I will be replacing it with a new layer once I decide to venture out.

My pack is soon held above my head along with my spear and knife as I wade through the ooze. I step out onto dryer land and am not surprised when the insects do not reappear. They would be used to drive me out of cover. I have left my sanctuary on my own and so they are not needed.

The route to the waterhole is swift and I hurry to clean everything that I can to make it more edible. My water bottle is filled and I set my things aside while I clean what mud that I can from myself. The water feels wonderful as I remove mud from my body, clothing and hair. Even the fact that my boots are now filled with water does not disturb me. It gives me a reason to remove them and massage my aching feet which have not felt relief for days.

The tools, blanket and pack get a cleaning as well as I carry out my resolve to restore my pride. I hate being dirty and the water has helped.

I am just putting the soggy boots back on when I hear a terrifying scream in the distance that could have only come from a human throat and I am not surprised to hear the report of a cannon.

 _‘So it has begun,’_ I think to myself. _‘They want this to end soon so that they can prevent audience boredom.’_

But which tribute had died?

As I take stock of my food I realize that the bread had not done well with immersion in both mud and water. This has me considering another raid on the Cornucopia.

With any luck there will still be food there for the taking. If the cannon was for the boy from District One there may not be anyone protecting it and a free meal can be obtained.

As if I believe in a free meal!

On the other hand I could walk into an ambush. The female tribute from District twelve has proven that she is very good at striking from a distance and with lethal results.

I need to be prepared to strike first and, if possible, from a distance if I encounter resistance. The boy from One is reliant on short ranged weapons. I had seen no evidence of long ranged capability at the Cornucopia and there had been nothing at the scene of the fight where the girl from Twelve had eliminated the Careers. I have no idea if there are any more tributes but am resolved to deal with anyone that I encounter.

The forest between my camp and the Cornucopia is not all that dense in reality but as I make my way to the site of the bloodbath the woods that I am walking through seems to have exploded with new growth. I wince at the rustle of every leaf that I push aside and every branch that I duck under while I walk. The growth under my feet seems to emit amplified noise to announce my presence to anyone who might be listening for me.

The spear in my hand, as well as the knife on my belt comfort me but it is the sling wrapped around my cranium and the pocket full of stones that I carry that give me the most hope. If I do get the opportunity for a first strike from a distance and manage to score a kill with the hit that I hope for perhaps I will get to ride back to the Capitol in good condition.

Keeping to what cover I can find I approach the site of the Cornucopia. Smoke from a small dying fire is visible rising above the trees. As I close on the camp I see nothing to tell me whether or not it is still occupied.

Either the boy was the dead tribute or he is in concealment and waiting for someone to approach. Inching around the camp I slowly approach my objective and then, suddenly alerted by SOMETHING, I come to a stop and duck down into the brush while pulling off my headband and dropping a stone into it.

A twig snaps under a foot somewhere ahead of me and I imagine that I can hear the likely silent curse that is uttered as I sink further into the brush to wait. The time slowly, in my mind at least, passes as I wait while I observe the scene which is maddening. Food is so close and apparently as I far as I can tell unprotected.

The sound of the breaking twig worries me. If I was the one in possession of the supplies I would set a trap like this one. I would set it and then wait to spring it. Now I am quite certain that this is the situation that I face.

Not knowing if I have been observed as I approached I realize that I cannot get up and flee. Doing so opens me for an ambush and likely death.

The Game has taken on a new dimension as I, and at least one more tribute, begin the task of waiting the other out, of waiting for the other to make a critical error.

It is at this instant that I realize that the wind, which had kept the brush and leaves moving, has suddenly ceased. Any movement by me or a hidden tribute will be painfully noticeable. It is as though the Gamemakers, knowing that the members of the audience are probably holding their breath as the scene unfolds, have decided that the arena needs to do the same.

Right now I am grateful for being slight. I can make small movements that might be unnoticed while the same movement by a larger, heavier tribute will most likely create noise and draw attention. It is this that I am looking for while I wait where I am hiding.

An area not far from me has my attention, and suspicion, and I catch a brief glimpse of an unnatural color as something moves slightly. I have confidence that I have my enemy in sight but need to be certain of what I am seeing.

Moving as stealthily as possible I send a stone on its way. It lands after clattering off of a tree somewhere ahead of me and the movement that I have been watching magnifies as the concealed tribute moves in response.

I am preparing to act when movement in another area alerts me to a presence that I had been unaware of. Rapidly sinking back to the ground, I hear the rustling of someone or something moving through the brush. Betraying my presence at this point might bring both of them down upon me, especially if they have formed a late alliance to eliminate me first.

This one I can track by sound while I have to use my sight to maintain contact with the other. Both are moving now and on an intercept course with the other.

From where I am I catch a brief glimpse of the girl from Twelve as she moves forward and, although I am in a wonderful kill position, for some reason I do not act. They will encounter each other and soon. A life ending fight is inevitable and I want to be ready to deal with the victor. Another stone drops into my sling as I wait quietly for what must, and will, happen.

She is almost upon him when the boy from One rises from his hiding spot and swings his sword at her. The clang of metal hitting metal tells me that she has a bladed weapon of her own and I bear silent witness as the fight begins in earnest.

Another savage swing nearly bisects her torso and would have had she not leapt backwards. As she leaps back I realize that I am seeing the secret of her long range ability.

A sling made from someone’s clothing hangs from her belt and I can see several bright objects lined up on her belt as they wait to be fired. I am not certain what they are made of but they frighten me enough to act.

The stone that I had prepared leaves my sling on a collision course with her head. I can only watch with hope as I wait for her to take the impact and die.

It does not happen.

An unexpected movement by her takes her out of the line of trajectory. My missile strikes the boy instead and he is thrown backwards by the hit with no time to recover from what happens next.

Seizing on her sudden, and unexpected, advantage she rushes forward to bury the sword that he had dropped into his chest. I do not have the time to watch him die or to hear the cannon roar. I am too busy sending another stone at the opponent that I fear the most. Then I turn and race away to begin to prepare for what is to come.

Alerted to my presence and flush with the kill that she had just made, she turns and sees me. A horrible expression covers her face, a face that I had assumed back in the Training Center would belong to a corpse by now, as the second stone arcs on its course towards her.

I do not wait to see if I had hit her because I knew the moment that the stone left the sling that I would miss. A whispering sound and the thump of impact against my pack told me that she had sent her own projectile at my receding back.

The woods before me have never seemed so dense, each branch that I pass seems to reach out to hold me and the uneven ground makes running a chore. I finally believe that I might actually reach a place where I could turn and make a stand when I suddenly tumble head over heels as I trip on a tree root that has seemed to reach out for my leg.

As I gather myself I am alerted by another whispering sound and then the sound of an impact and I stare for an instant at the object that has suddenly buried itself in a tree, the object that would have killed me had it hit me. I rise and do my best to disappear into the undergrowth to escape what follows me and intends to end my existence, likely in a very unpleasant manner.

As I run I drop my hand into my pocket for a stone and find nothing. The stones that had been there had clearly fallen out of my pocket when I fell.

My sling is now useless, unless I can find more sling stones and quickly I can no longer strike from a safe distance. The possibility of her losing sight of me long enough for that to happen are so small they border on the invisible, unless she were to suddenly go blind.

Like that is going to happen!

The sounds of pursuit are getting closer and I know that sooner or later she will score a killing hit on me. As we run through the woods, my fate almost certainly assured, I realize that we are getting close to the mud hole and the insects that might be summoned if I go into hiding.

While I run towards it I understand that, as soon as we leave the cover of the brush, I am dead. My knife is gone I realize, lost in the fall as well, leaving me with only the spear and a tattered bit of cloth.

Another impact and then the sensation of liquid running down over my backside and legs came to me. A hand sent searching for injury comes back merely wet. Obviously my water bottle took the strike and is now useless.

I can hear her breathing as she closes on me from behind and I know that I must do the only thing that I can. It means losing the only weapon that I have left but I know that she will not get close enough for me to use it in hand to hand battle.

I turn long enough to hurl the spear at her and then, now defenseless, rush away hoping that I had hit her but knowing that I have not.

A curse reaches my ears and I know that my unexpected attack was at least partially successful. I missed her but she had been forced to slow down to avoid the spear.

The mud hole is tantalizingly close. If I can get to it without being seen I can vanish to fight another time. That is unless the Gamemakers will not let me.

Realizing that I can no longer hear her pelting after me I slow my own pace. Another game of cat and mouse has begun only this time I am obviously the mouse. She is stalking me now and I can hear her taunting voice as she searches for her prey.

“Where are you, Nine? Why don’t you quit hiding? I am going to find you sooner or later, so why don’t you come out from wherever you are? I will make it quick and relatively painless when I kill you. I will make certain that you are still identifiable when you get back to your district in the box. We both know that only one person can win and we are the only two remaining. Everyone else is dead.”

I can see the mud hole, still full of ooze, only steps away and can tell from the sounds that I can hear that she will be on me soon. There are only two options: hide in the mud and wait for the Gamemakers to remove my concealment or step out from where I am and die.

She has stopped talking, but the sounds of her movement tell me that she is very close.

“I am going to kill you, Nine,” she snarls.

Her shadow tells me that it is time to decide and my choice is easy.

I hear an impact as I rush the mud hole and dive headfirst into what it contains. The unyielding stone of the roof of the hole has taken her attack.

As I vanish down into the mud, I find Mama waiting for me and her message is brief.

“Jessa! Jessa, listen to me! You can still win this Game; you have what you need near you.”

My hand brushes against something hard and, as my consciousness begins to flee me, closes around the object and the items that are with it. I seize them and then push upward to explode from the surface with them at the ready.

Her eyes betray her surprise as the arrow, fired from the bow that I had taken from Geoff and hidden, passes through her breastbone and into her chest.

She falls backward while still trying to strike at me and that is when I see them. The insects converge upon her and I can only watch helplessly as they strip the flesh from her bones. She does not scream long and the creatures vanish back to where they had come from as her cannon is fired.

Abruptly a voice that I never had thought that I would hear again speaks as Claudius Templemith makes his announcement.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Jessa Peaston, the winner of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games!”

I drop the bow and arrows into the mud as the hovercraft spirits her pitiful remains away. Another will come for me soon and I emerge from my refuge as it appears overhead and the ladder descends to lift me into the belly of the vehicle.

As I look down at the arena below me I take in what I can before the sight of it is blocked from me. This is puzzling, why would they hide it from me when I know exactly what is down there. I reach into my pocket for what I want and am relieved when my fingers find what they are searching for. My headband is soon around my head and a team of Capitol doctors hurries to clean the mud from me before treating my injuries.

I can only watch mutely as my clothes and pack are unceremoniously tossed aside after being pulled from me. They will be preserved, of course, as relics of the Games as will all weapons that were used during it. I am powerless to prevent my headband from being removed; it is considered a relic too.

A needle stings my arm and I fall into a deep sleep to find Mama waiting for me.

“You did it, Jessa, my love! You won the Games and can go home.”

“Did I really win, Mama, did I?

Confusion clouds her face as she speaks.

“Of course you did, Jessa. You were the last tribute remaining.”

“But did I win?”

“I do not understand.”

“Mama, I may have beaten the other tributes but have I not made myself more of a pawn for the Capitol? Can I actually face the districts whose tributes I killed? What will my reception and life be like in District Nine? Right now I feel as though I would have been better off if I had gone ahead with my original plan to die in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia at the start of the Games. I also have to live with the fact that I now know who my father is. How do I live with that?”

“Jessa, you will only be a Capitol pawn if you let it happen. You are too strong to let that be your fate. The districts will live with what happened. That possibility was certain from the moment that their reapings occurred. Geoff’s parents will get past it just as certainly as families in the past have.”

She pauses before speaking further.

“You must never think that way, Jessa. Letting yourself die at the start would have only made you look weak and unworthy of life.”

“But I do not know how I will be able to live with myself.”

“One day at a time, Jessa. You will live one day at a time.”

“And what do I do about Arniss now that I know that he is my father?”

“Jessa, my love, do not let him into your life. Keep him at a distance and act as though he does not exist. Put the thought that I know must be running through your mind out of it. Do not harm him, Jessa, because that would bring the wrath of the Capitol down upon you. You just survived one ordeal; please do not risk the life that you managed to preserve”.

“I understand.”

“I wish that I was there to share the joy of victory with you, Jessa.”

“You will be, Mama. I will never forget you as long as I live.”

She fades from my dream and, as she does, I hear her words clearly.

“I love you, Jessa.”

I am unaware of it, but one of the Capitol doctors straightens from my side with a strange look on his face as I speak aloud.

“I love you.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Days later, feeling much stronger and not appearing like a tribute that had barely crawled out of the arena I am in the Capitol once again. One ordeal has ended and now another is about to begin, I am waiting to go on stage for the interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Pietor Wascyk, Melli Searson and, unfortunately, Arniss wait with me. Somehow they have both cleaned him up and dried him out enough to look presentable. Already he knows that something has changed as I had pointedly refused a hug when he offered it. Before he could attempt again I had stepped away and had kept my distance from him as though he were one of the insect Mutts in the arena. I had looked at him as though he was a creature that could burrow into my flesh and devour me from within.

Abruptly I hear the score that precedes the presentation of Caesar Flickerman. I know that soon I will be on stage with him and I dread it just as much as being near Arniss. The roar of the crowd tells me that Flickerman has stepped onto the stage and in front of the cameras while he sports the smile that never ceases and plays to the crowd.

Now I can hear him speaking and I cringe as I know what will come next.

“The person that will step onto this stage kept all of us on the edge of our seats as we often chewed our fingernails in suspense. Before the Games even started, long before the first blow was struck and the first blood spilled at the Cornucopia, our winner promised us a true champion and she has delivered on this promise.

Caesar Flickerman pauses as dramatic music builds before he speaks again and I feel like vomiting.

Wouldn’t that be great right in front of the cameras? It would be something for the Capitol audience to talk about for years.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, whether you are here in the Capitol or in one of the Districts, I give you our victor. She is here now, our own “Warrior Goddess”, from District Nine, Jessa Peaston!”

I am nudged forward by Melli and Pietor as I will my nearly paralyzed with doubt legs into motion. Wearing makeup applied by Pietor and his team of stylists and a gown that I still feel like I could vomit all over I fight down nausea and step onto the stage.

Once again lights blind me and I have a flashback of rising from the launch tube and into the arena, my eyes had been forced to adjust to the glare then too. There are unidentifiable smells too and this brings flashbacks as I remember those terrible minutes that seem a lifetime ago although they were only weeks in the past.

I am uncomfortably aware of the fact that once again all eyes in Panem are focused on me as I appear on camera, just as when I had risen from the launch tube to view people who would soon be dead. Caesar Flickerman, his ever present smile that I had often wondered if it was a prosthetic that he had had permanently implanted, stands waiting for me to reach him. He has one arm extended to beckon me and I carefully approach as though it holds a sword that he intends to use to run me through.

When I finally arrive I am directed to a chair that is waiting for me and I do my best to keep something that is supposed to be a smile on my face.

Caesar does not look impressed by it but presses forward, only because he is forced to. Before the audience can take note of his unease he sends the first statement my way and I can only do what the audience is doing as the screen behind us lights up in preparation for what it will show.

“It seems like only yesterday that you were here, on this stage, as you prepared to face your opponents in the arena. You said that you wanted to be the champion that the audience and, indeed, the Capitol deserved. You certainly proved that you could be that champion! You showed incredible courage, resourcefulness and tenacity in the Games. But I do not want my words to be what the audience remembers, I want them to remember the images that all of us will hold in our thoughts for the rest of our days.”

I can only watch, sometimes with disguised horror, as the days and nights in the arena are replayed on a screen behind us. Each death is shown and, for the first time, I see ALL of them in detail. Horrified fascination keeps my eyes glued to the screen as I watch each life end.

A gasp escapes me, and I cannot help but notice Caesar’s reaction to it, when Geoff’s death scene plays in front of us. The horror of the moment that I had realized that I had killed someone from my own District resounds through my mind anew.

The carnage filled images continue and I can hear the reactions of the audience, especially when the scenes of the deaths are played. The audience has seen all of this before and for them it was entertainment. I am seeing this along with them and for me this is torture.

Finally the final fight plays and the scene of the girl from District Twelve’s death is shown and I see it from a new perspective. 

Of more interest to me is the fact that, while under the influence of the snake venom and the antidote, I had been totally exposed for two days. Somehow no other tributes had come across me even though the area had been surveyed by the pack of Careers. They certainly would have killed me had they found me in the state that I was in at the time. A simple movement of a knife would have ended my life and I would not have even seen it coming.

The activities of the female tribute from District Twelve hold the most interest for me. The slight girl who had seemed to be an easy kill while in the Training Center had proven to be a ruthless killer. 

She had discovered early on the power of venom coated weapons. Her sling stones, triangular pieces of sharpened stone that had been painstakingly produced, had been lethal creations.

For someone who had pretended to be frightened of everything, including her own shadow, she had had us all fooled. She could have had a career as a stage actress if she had not become a tribute.

I am just getting past the death scenes when outtakes of moments in the Districts are played. Each scene is from the moment when one of their tributes was killed. Tears fill my eyes when I see Geoff’s parents, who I recognized from the day of the reaping, react to their son’s death.

Scenes of the reactions of the citizenry of District Nine at the confrontation between Geoff and I, and its final outcome, are equally telling. There is a very real likelihood that I will not get a warm reception from at least part of the people that I have known for all of my life.

Thankfully the scenes finally come to an end, although they had seemed to last for a lifetime, and I notice for the first time that Pietor, Melli and Arniss are now on stage. Sometime during the replay of the death scenes from the Games they had been called onto the stage and I had not noticed.

Pietor’s gush about my wardrobe and the makeup that I wear is the easiest to take. I am almost interested in what he has to say about the transformation that I had undergone from being a skinny girl from the grain fields of District Nine to the nearly statuesque woman now sitting on the stage in front of the Capitol.

Melli is less captivating and I pretend to listen to all of what she has to say while really only hearing part of it. She tells her part of the story and, although she is supposed to have the spotlight I find myself looking with undisguised venom at Arniss. He has yet to speak and I wonder what he will have to say. Will it be worth listening to or will my pent up emotions reveal themselves on stage. Will I ask the question that only he can answer?

I am so intent on watching Arniss that I fail to realize that I have been questioned about something. The increase in Caesar’s strident tone alerts me and I come back to the scene to see an almost grimace of displeasure on his face. Always the showman he manages to hide his expression from the cameras but it is clear that he is irritated with me.

“Jessa, you seem to be a bit distracted,” he croons as he tries to steer the conversation back to where it should be. “I am most interested, as I am certain that the audience here in the studio as well as those watching in the Districts is, what your impressions about the process that you went through to become a tribute are.”

I can see the trap before me clearly, as clearly as I had seen those in the arena, and it frightens me. An answer is expected, and it has to be an answer that will not insult the sensitivities of the Capitol, of President Snow.

“Well, Caesar, I can only say that I am extremely grateful for the training that the Capitol provided for us at the Tribute Center. Without it I doubt that any of us would have survived for very long. The people that the Capitol provided to assist us were wonderful in everything that they did for us and I cannot thank them enough.”

Applause from the audience at this statement seems to put Caesar at ease and the smile reappears. I know that I still have damage control to do so I continue with what I need to say.

“A great deal of my gratitude also goes to the audience who, wherever they may be watching form whether it be here in the Capitol or in the Districts, made the Games as important as they are. I also need to thank the sponsors for if not for their gift I might not be here.”

Thunderous applause echoes through the amphitheater, Caesar relaxes and pastes on a true smile and we both become aware of a chant that is coming from the spectators. It begins with one voice and then swells until it comes from thousands of throats. One word, but it carries incredible power and I know that everything is going to be okay.

“Jessa! Jessa! Jessa! Jessa! JESSA! JESSA!”

I have gone from being a simple girl from District Nine, to being a tribute in the Hunger Games and now to a victor and icon to be both adored and despised. The latter depends on which District a person is from and whether or not I killed their tribute and loved one.

Caesar finally raises his hands to quiet the audience as it has become impossible for us to carry on the interview.

I am actually quite grateful when Caesar does not move on to what Arniss has to say. Traditionally the mentor has a great deal to answer for. Obviously the mentor of a dead tribute really is not asked a lot of questions. Normally mentoring is not done on the art of dying.

Most people can do that fairly easily without coaching.

He is finally given a chance to speak when Caesar directs a question at him.

“Arniss, the young woman who was your mentee seems to almost harbor anger when you are spoken about to her. Why would she do that when your mentoring is at least part of the reason that she is here with us tonight?”

“I have known Jessa for her entire life,” Arniss begins, “and we have had a contentious relationship. I am not well thought of in our District, part of which is my fault, and Jessa has picked up on that.”

“My mentoring helped keep her alive only when I advised her on things that she was not aware of. She is more that capable of knowing what is edible in the wild and how to obtain it. She learned the lessons about the dangers of the snakes like the one that attacked her in the Games when she was very young. Jessa was her own best mentor and, no matter what she says to the contrary, is well thought of in our District. I am very proud of the miniscule part that I played in helping her to be here tonight.”

The audience applauds loudly at this and I feel something strange come over me as my eyes meet Arniss’ and it is at this moment that I realize that he knows what I have learned. It is clear that we have much to talk about once the cameras are gone.

The remainder of the interview drones on and I gasp when I look up to see the group picture that had been taken of the tributes before we entered the arena. Each face bore an expression that was different for each individual. Some looked courageous, others frightened, some hopeful and others lost but mine was different. I looked as though I did not care what happened to me over the course of the Games. I looked resigned to my fate.

When the program comes to its end Caesar rises and speaks that words that brings this part of the ordeal that I have lived to an end.

“From the Capitol this is Caesar Flickerman with our own “Warrior Goddess” Jessa Peaston from District Nine, the victor of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, bidding our audience in the Capitol and the Districts a very fine evening.”

The cameras leave us and I find myself being hustled away to a suite prepared especially for me. This time there is no sharing of the space with three other people and I am free to roam about at will. While dinner is a rather lonely affair I find the solitude also very relaxing.

After dinner I allow myself to get lost in the warmth of the shower as I try to wash my body clean and my mind free of the memories of the arena. I emerge from the shower clean but still encumbered with memories that I wished had been sent down the drain with the soap suds.

Something that I wish to avoid, but cannot, will come tomorrow and this is assured. In a televised event President Snow will present me with the crown of a victor and then I will leave the Capitol to begin the tour of the Districts that is expected of me.

The bed that is waiting for me is big enough to accommodate several people and I take full advantage of it.

As comfortable as I am in these surroundings I find it impossible to sleep. My mind is whirling with images of the past and possibilities of the future. 

Arniss had not been himself on stage. He had been someone that I did not remember ever meeting at any time while I grew up. He had seemed to find a civilized part of himself that I had not known existed.

Am I wrong to think about him the way that I do? If he IS my father, do I at least owe him a chance of being understood? Can I really kill him if he is what I suspect?

My thoughts also turn to the likely reception that I will receive when I arrive home in District Nine, the last stop of the tour. Geoff’s family has had the time that they need to stir up resentment towards me. We all run the same risk when we become tributes in the Games but I have personally seen people turn against those that they had once been friends with over the death of a tribute. It had been televised after the Games three years ago.

I am, more or less, alone in District Nine and have no one to turn to. This is in spite of what Arniss said about me being well thought of. If they decide, without thinking about what they wile receive as the residents of the District of a victor, to turn their backs on me or worse attack me there will be little that I can do.

Will I be as despised as President Snow? Will I be forced to retreat into my Victor’s House to live the remainder of my life alone?

Perhaps that would be best because then there would likely be no children for me to worry about during the reaping when they became old enough to be selected as tributes. I would not have to live through the fear and anguish of their possible loss in the Games.

My future role as a mentor also bothers me. How can I tell a young girl, for I would be the most likely to mentor female tributes, how to kill another person? How do I tell a girl to throw away all pretenses at civilized life and live like a near animal for weeks?

This seems to be a nearly impossible job and yet it will be expected of me, regardless of my feelings about it.

Somehow Mother does not come to offer me solace and, although I know that she has not, I worry that she has forsaken me. Can I live without her comforting guidance? She has, even in death, always been there for me.

Finally there is the coming meeting with President Snow, Pietor will be tasked with preparing me for this appearance and then I must take the stage with a despot. I will do my best to maintain a smile and be gracious for to insult him is a certain death wish.

I finally manage to fall into a restless slumber to pass the hours before what is to come.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Lights blaze down upon me once again as I take my seat near Caesar Flickerman. Very soon I will be in the direct presence of President Criolanus Snow as he presents me with the crown of the victor of the Hunger Games.

The fact that the crown that I will be presented with was won with the blood of twenty three now dead tributes seems to bother only me. Nothing will be mentioned about the people who failed do what I have, survive. They will be consigned to the history books as those who lost everything in the pursuit of glory.

I try to listen to the inane babble of Caesar as once again, as if anyone has forgotten since last night, he recounts the “tantalizing” account of my exploits during the time that I spent in the arena. Already, I have been informed; throngs of citizens have journeyed to see for themselves where people died for their entertainment. The deaths of twenty three children had become a spectator event.

Abruptly the anthem begins and all within the amphitheater rise as the despot, President Snow appears. Smiling broadly and waving to the crowd he strides towards me and I allow myself to be embraced, when what I really want to do is to run for my life.

I fight revulsion at being hugged by this person who is about as warm as one of the rattlesnakes that tried to kill me. A look into his pale blue eyes reveals no kindness in his being and, as though I had not already known it, he means me no congratulations and is only here because he is expected to be.

It is odd that in this manner we are exactly alike, for I would not be here except for the fact that I am mandated to be.

“I would like to congratulate you on your victory, Jessa Peaston,” he says quickly. “You have proven that you tell the truth. The promise that you made to provide us with a champion was carried out nd I am certain that all of Panem, like myself, was glued to the events in the arena.”

 _‘Of course they were,’_ I think, _‘it is mandated that they watch the Games regardless of how they feel about it.’_

He steps back to accept the waiting crown that he places on my head. I do my best to smile broadly as I wave to the crowd and cameras while feeling sick to my stomach.

I am embraced by Snow once again and I manage to thank him without vomiting. Then, once again, the crowd rises as he leaves the stage and I find myself alone with Flickerman and the cameras.

“Jessa,” he begins once we are seated once again. “In a very short time you will begin your trip home to District Nine and this means that you will pass through all of the Districts so that the people can get a firsthand view of this year’s winner. What message would you give to whose watching, to those who will be tributes in the future?”

“Believe in yourself,” I answer quickly. “Regardless of what you know or are told or what you have seen, believe that you can prevail and then the odds WILL be in your favor!”

Explosive applause erupts at those words and Caesar smiles broadly as he reaches forward to shake my hand. We rise as he speaks once more and then my time in the Capitol draws to an end, at least for now.

“From the Capitol and to all of Panem, Jessa Peaston, winner of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games and I, Caesar Flickerman, wish and bid you all a pleasant night.”

Applause follows us off of the stage and, once I am out of sight of the ever present cameras, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Now all that I have to do is to face the people of the Districts. I have become a tribute again in a much larger game and this time I am truly alone.

We leave the amphitheater to journey to the waiting train that will take me on the victory tour. I am certain that past victors have enjoyed the thought of what is coming, but I am viewing it like a trip to the executioner.

Pietor, who is there to keep me presentable, Melli, as a representative of the Capitol, and Arniss are waiting for us when I arrive and we board the train to leave the Capitol behind. I settle into a seat to do the best that I can at not looking at the receding Capitol. This is, of course, after I spend a nearly intolerable time at a window waving at the nearly frantic crowd, and cameras; that has gathered to see me off.

When they can no longer see me and I am convinced that the cameras no longer hold me hostage I drop the façade that I wear and the smile dies. I dissolve into tears that resist all efforts to cheer me up. The crown that twenty three others had coveted lies on a cushion next to me where it landed after being nearly ripped off of my head.

I do not even get to keep it, for once this trip is over the crown will journey back to the Capitol to be placed in a location of honor at the arena. I will not see it again until the Victory Tour that all victors make about midway through the year between Games.

Arniss looks as though he wishes to speak to me but apparently decides that now is not the best time. He looks as though he is still sober and I wonder how long he can remain in that state before old habits return. As this is new to him, taking a living mentee on a trip through the Districts, as it is to me and he does not know what to expect. He looks at me for a long moment and then turns and walks out of the car.

The door has barely slid closed behind him when I find myself rising to follow him. There are a lot of questions in my mind and he is the only person who can answer the most pressing one. I catch up with him before he can vanish into his compartment. He turns with a surprised look on his face.

“Jessa, you look as though you have something on your mind and I do not think that it has anything to do with the trip that we are on. Am I right?”

I nod quietly in answer to his question.

“What is bothering you?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” he asks although I am certain that he already knows the answer.

I swallow hard and consider fleeing from him. Only the maddening question on my mind and the fact that there only so many places that you can run to on a train make me speak.

“Jessa?”

The question comes out of my mouth so quickly that there is nothing that I could do to stop it from escaping.

“Are you my father, Arniss?”

He recoils as though struck, his eyes widen and his lips move but no sound emerges. I move closer to him to come face to face.

“Are you my father?” I repeat.

A wary expression enters his face as he looks away from me, like a child that has been caught in a lie. He looks back at me, when he realizes that I am not going to let this subject drop and walk away, and then silently nods.

The truth confirmed I find myself stunned. I had been angry enough to want to kill him and now I am not certain what to do.

Obviously there must have been something about him all of those years ago that had attracted my mother to him. Could he have been a much different person than he is now? Had something happened to drive him to become the filthy drunk that was well known in District Nine? Had that been the reason that he had never really been a part of his daughter’s life? Was this what had made Mother keep me wary of him even though I had often been tasked with visiting him?

“Why didn’t you or Mama tell me?”

“Jessa…”

I interrupt him with a loud slap across his face before turning on my heel and racing away down the companionway. At his moment there is nothing that he can say that I want to hear and I wonder if there ever will be.

I rush into the compartment meant for me and then turn to lean back against the now closed door while I cover my face with my hands. This poor barrier does nothing to stop the tears that are traveling down my cheeks. My mind is whirling out of control and I am not certain that it will ever come back to something approaching normal.

A knock at the door that I lean against alerts me to a visitor and Arniss’ voice speaks to me.

“Jessa.”

Nothing will come out of my mouth and I assume that my silence will make him move on, but I am wrong.

“Jessa, please, I want to talk to you, to tell you why things were the way that they were.”

“Would it be the truth, Arniss? Would you really tell me what happened or will you tell me a story that you have been dreaming up for fourteen years to be ready for this day?”

Through the closed door that is between us I hear him sigh deeply before he speaks again.

“Jessa, there is so much to tell you but we did not know if you were ready for the truth of the matter.”

“Is it the real truth or one that you cooked up?” I retort.

“Can I come in?”

“Why should I let you do that?”

“I would rather talk to you face to face about this instead of through the door. Do you want to know the truth or not?”

Realizing that he is the only person who knows the truth about my beginnings I step away from the door. A moment later, Arniss is standing before me once again, the side of his face still red from the slap that I had delivered. I eye him suspiciously before speaking.

“So what story are you going to tell me?” I snarl.

“The truth, Jessa, I am going to tell you the truth. I think that you deserve it and are old enough to understand what I am about to tell you.”

“Okay, so tell me and we will see if I believe you.”

“Jessa,” he begins, “yes, I am your father. Your mother and I were deeply in love once. We were in love before I was chosen to be a tribute in the Games and my selection nearly tore your mother’s heart out. I can still hear her screaming NO when my name was announced.”

“She was forced to watch as the person that she loved and had intended to marry was picked to possibly die in the Games and then be hustled off to the Capitol.”

I shake my head in disbelief but he presses on.

“I was certain, as I stood there on the stage; that she would volunteer as a tribute.”

“You’re lying, girls are always chosen first.”

He nods before speaking.

“Normally they are, but that year the computer had a malfunction and the ball with the names of the female candidates was not ready so they went ahead with the boys. Like I said, I was certain that she would carry through with a vow that we had made. I had promised to volunteer if she were chosen and was waiting for this when someone beat her to it, another person that she loved deeply. Jessa, did you know that your mother had a sister?”

“Yes, Mother told me that she died when she was very young. But what does that have to do…”

“Yes, Jessa,” he interrupts as realization hits me. “Her sister, your aunt, volunteered as a tribute before your mother could. Your mother was forced, like I was, to watch her sister die at the Cornucopia during the bloodbath.”

“Somehow I managed to get to her during the fighting, to pull her from the fight and she died in my arms. After that I fought like a madman whenever I had to. I killed the boy that killed your aunt by smashing his head with a rock. There was no stopping until he was headless, completely unrecognizable, only then did I rise.”

I remember this scene from the clips that had been shown during reapings. Nothing about it had made an impression on me but now I began to understand.

“Prove to me that you tried to help my aunt, Arniss!” I scream. “Prove it or I will kill you right here in this compartment! Prove to me that you are not just saying these things to make me feel better about you!”

He nods silently before giving the screen a command to show the bloodbath from his Games. I have seen all of this before but now watch with tear filled eyes as I am shown what happened to my mother’s sister, my aunt.

I see a girl from District Nine, a girl who looks incredibly like Mother and myself; struck by a sword across the midsection in a manner like the girl at the bloodbath in my Games. Then, without warning, Arniss appears on the scene with a warrior howl preceding him.

He smashes the killer of the girl across the face, felling him, and then drags the fallen girl from the fight after grabbing the sword.

Minutes later I see the pair in the woods as Arniss holds my aunt in his arms. He is crying, begging her to stay, and then wailing uncontrollably as she relaxes in death. He stays with her body, holding her tightly and refusing to let the hovercraft remove her corpse. Only the appearance of the Peacekeepers makes him move on and allows the body to be removed.

When that scene ends I turn to see Arniss Mitt, my father, with new eyes. At some time during the viewing we had settled down onto the couch in the room and he has his arm around me gently. Stammering, I speak to him once again.

“What happened between you and my mother? Why didn’t you stay together? Why weren’t you a real part of my life, like a father should be to his daughter?”

He pauses for a moment and then I speak again.

“You started drinking! Is that what caused it?”

He lowers his head and then nods slowly.

“It became too much, Jessa. Having to be a mentor to kids leaving to be tributes and knowing that they would likely die became too much!”

“I was forced to watch people that I had seen as children playing in the school ground stand in the square during the reaping and then get selected. Then I was tasked with teaching them how to kill and then likely die. Jessa, I watched the boxes with their remains come home and saw the reactions of their parents when it happened.”

“Your mother was with child by then and yet I could not stop drinking to share the joy with her. She pled with me to stop, to be a real part of my child’s life but nothing worked. You were born during the Games that year and I was overjoyed at the arrival of new life, my daughter. But this was during the Games when I was watching people, children, that I had mentored die in a horrible fashion.”

“When I could not stop drinking your mother decided that you would be better off without me. She asked me to leave and to stay out of your life. I wanted to be near you, to be a part of your life, and so your mother relented. She began to allow you to be near me as long as I did not reveal our relationship to you. She felt that you were too young to understand and she was probably correct.”

“All during this time I feared what might come when you became old enough for the reaping. I held my breath every time that Melli selected a girl’s name, afraid that I would hear yours announced. And then your mother became ill. She came to me one night and told me about her illness. I understood what she was saying and told her that I would do the best that I could to keep you safe and fed. I knew that you did not trust me or want to be near me, but my promise was made. I told her that I would help you anyway that I could, regardless of how you felt.”

“Then she died,” I finish.

“Yes, Jessa, then she died and I knew that your world had collapsed in upon itself. I watched from a distance the day that they buried her as you, my daughter, poured out your grief in solitude and I wished more than anything that I could take you into my arms and tell you. But I had no doubt that you would refuse me and any help that I offered. I could see how you suffered and was ready to go to the District Council to reveal my secret when you did the unexpected.”

“I volunteered as a tribute.”

“Yes,” he replied. “In that instant there was nothing that I could do to protect you. You became a tribute and all that I could do was to mentor you and hope that I did not have to watch you die like I had your aunt. I understood finally the anguish and fear that I had seen so many parents go through as the saw their son or daughter selected.”

“I resolved to do anything that I had to do to bring you to this moment. You are here, on this train, on your way home and relatively safe.”

His last words resonate in my mind and I ask him yet another question.

“Will I be safe in the districts, Arniss?”

“I think that you will be in most Districts. The people know that a tribute has a fifty-fifty chance of coming home alive regardless of what the odds makers say. I do not care how good you are with weapons, how well you have been trained, Jessa, once you are in the arena anything can happen.”

“You said that you thought that I would be safe in most Districts,” I continue, “what about District Nine? I killed Geoff before the final fights! Will that be held against me?”

He shrugs his shoulders before answering.

“I wish that I knew, Jessa. From what I have been able to learn, Geoff’s parents have been very vocal about their son’s death. They started to cry foul the moment that you gained the advantage in that fight. The fact that he probably knew who you were when he fired on you the first time has not been mentioned.”

“Because everyone knew that I did not have parents to protect me,” I respond before I notice the pained look on his face.

“Yes, that is probably why.”

Somehow, despite all that I have thought about Arniss in the past, I feel regret at what I had said a moment before and wish that I could retract my words. Arniss HAD tried to protect me, his daughter, and I repaid him at the time with indifference and, at times, open hostility. I begin to wonder if we can ever hope to have a normal relationship that a father and his daughter should.

Our attention to the conversation is interrupted as the train slows perceptibly. This means that we are approaching a district and, although we will not stop, I am expected to be at the window so that the people can see me.

District Ten, which I have never seen before, passes by as I arrive at the window. I wave graciously at the people that I know have to hate me to some extent. It is only when they have been passed by that I retreat to my chair.

This scene will be repeated many more times as we pass through the Districts. The people are always gathered to see this year’s winner and are waving at me as the train passes, but I have to wonder what they are really thinking. Do they really feel as good about me as they seem to? How will they respond to me on the Victory Tour in a few months? I have seen crowds be hostile when a victor stops on the tour and have no doubt that I will face much the same thing.

The final stop, when I have to say goodbye for now to Pietor and Melli who I will not see until the Victory Tour, is at the station at District Nine. Through the window I can see that an enormous crowd has gathered to see something that they have only seen once before, a living tribute coming home. Some of the crowd waves at the train with excitement, but I can see resentment in some of the other faces and their waves are less enthusiastic.

Arniss steps to my side and takes my hand, something that startles me, as the train stops and we step out onto the platform. He lifts my arm in victory as the crowd applauds and then we are hustled away to make the trip to my Victor’s House.

It’s all very exciting and I feel something about Arniss that I never imagined before now that I could and I begin to hope that there is a positive future ahead of us. Perhaps now, once the resentment that Geoff’s parents have created dies down, Arniss can stay sober with his daughter at his side and I can feel the comfort of my father at mine.

I make my way into my house and find a bedroom ready for me. I collapse onto the bed and let deep slumber take me as I think about what lies ahead.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

I awake the next morning with a start as a number of Peacekeepers rush into the room with their weapons at the ready after the door to the room is slammed open and crashes against the wall. There is no real time to come to my senses before I am roughly seized and flipped over onto my belly. An instant later my arms are pinned behind my back and my wrists are bound together.

The room whirls as I am jerked to my feet and then nearly dragged out of the room. As I am hurried out of my home I can hear the crashes of anything breakable being smashed. I am offered no instrument of comfort as we make our way to the square of the district. It is only when we have reached the square, the very place where the reaping takes place, that I learn what is going on.

Several people rest on their knees in the center of the area with Peacekeepers standing over them. The rest of the population of District Nine has been roused and now stand sullenly to watch the spectacle. I am dragged forward and then shoved to my knees in the dirt, all thoughts and inclinations to argue silenced by the muzzle of the rifle that is pressed against the back of my skull.

Abruptly, Arniss is next to me in the dirt. Like me he is on his knees but apparently he has been roughly treated. His face is heavily bruised and blood trails down his chin from a split lip. A rifle is pressed to his head as well.

An officer steps forward to speak to the crowd and to address the condemned.

“Those that you see before are guilty of inciting insurrection against the Capitol and our beloved President Snow! These revolutionaries” he announces as he indicates the group that I had seen on their knees when I had arrived, “attacked Peacekeepers with weapons no doubt inspired by Jessa Peaston!”

I look up with horror as he holds up several headbands.

“As a result of these heinous acts which caused several injuries and one death all use of these items is forbidden henceforth! Any person found to be in possession of one shall be severely punished! Any person who uses one in any fashion shall be immediately executed on the spot regardless of age!”

“These incorrigibles,” he announces, “shall now be punished. Let this be a lesson to all present.”

Without hesitation he steps forward as he draws his pistol heedless of the pleas and wailing from the crowd. One after the other, the six fall face first into the soil as a bullet is fired into the back of their head. I can only watch as my neighbors begin to soak the dirt with their blood and brains.

Then the officer turns to Arniss before speaking.

“Arniss Mitt, as the mentor of Jessa Peaston you are highly responsible for her actions. For this crime you are sentenced to twenty lashes.”

I watch helplessly as he is dragged forward to be tied to a post. One after the other the cruel sound of the whip sounds and the blows from that whip assail his back. The sound is only partially drowned out by his cries of pain and I can only watch as the skin of his back is split over and over again. The sights and sounds are too much for me and I vomit into the dirt that I kneel over. I wonder if I will be lying face down in the mess in a few moments once my punishment is announced.

Arniss fell silent a moment later and I can see and hear that the whipping that he has been enduring has ceased and the Peacekeeper that has been doling the pain out approaches his still form. He bends over my father, examines him for a moment and then looks up at the officer and shakes his head. His findings are obvious and I scream in agony as it hits me.

My father, who I had known all of my life but really only for a short time, is dead. He hangs limply on his bindings, blood running down his back and dripping from his mouth.

Nothing about this brings sympathy for me and the officer approaches me until he stands over me in the position and posture of an executioner.

“Jessa Peaston, you shall be taken to the Capitol to be dealt with in a fashion suited to a dissident!”

I can see smoke rising from the vicinity of my home as I am once again dragged to my feet. Clearly my home is being burned to prevent anyone from District Nine from looting it.

A hovercraft arrives as if by magic and I am soon aboard it. The machine makes a slow circuit of the area and through a window I see that not only is my Victor’s House burning but so is that of Arniss as well as the home that I had grown up in. My tears cloud my vision and I ride in silence to whatever destiny the Capitol has in store for me.

During the trip only my mind speaks to me. Clearly someone had decided to stage a small revolt and now the whole of District Nine is paying the price. The Capitol will no doubt retract the prize that the citizens of a winning district receive. Life will become much more difficult than it had been before.

I close my eyes because I do not want to see the faces of those around me. My fault is still a mystery to me but I am certain that some reason has been conjured for this to be happening.

The trip to the Capitol is swift and I wonder if they will televise my execution so that all of Panem can see a traitor die. Will Caesar Flickerman give a commentary before and after a bullet explodes my skull? Will my corpse be paraded through the districts on a special train so that all can view my remains and see what happens to those who refuse to be loyal to the Capitol and President Snow? This has happened before and I have viewed the shattered remains of those found guilty of treason.

When we land I am hustled off of the hovercraft and into an enormous building that I have never seen before. A large room bearing only two chairs, one bolted to the floor, waits for me and I am shoved into the secured one. Solitude is not granted to me and as a guard remains in the room with his rifle at the ready as he keeps watch. Apparently a trembling, terrified, fourteen year old girl who is still in her nightclothes and has her hands bound behind her back is something of a threat.

A door whispers open and I tremble again as several men enter the room proceeded by President Coriolanus Snow. He fixes me with the pale, venomous glare that he is known for before he settles down in the other chair. The remainder of the group takes up positions around me and stand quietly as he speaks.

“Miss Peaston, we meet again but this time not in as much of a festive atmosphere. You apparently were not as loyal to the Capitol as you made out to be! The “Warrior Goddess” made herself into a rallying point for those who would see Panem fall into chaos and war again and I will not allow that to happen.”

“But I…”

He interrupts me by speaking again.

“You did not want to be a loyal servant of the Capitol and Panem and that was always very apparent. But you should know by now that you have very little choice in the matter.”

“Am I going to be executed?” I manage to utter.

He laughs loudly at this before answering.

“No, Miss Peaston, you are not going to be executed. You are going to become a useful servant of the Capitol! We are, in fact, going to be benevolent and rehabilitate you. I want you to live a long and productive life.”

Something within his words resonates in my thoughts and I wonder how I will be “rehabilitated” by the Capitol. I also wonder how I had become a “rallying point for revolution” when I had spoken only to Arniss after returning home.

Something was not right.

“The Capitol is extremely disappointed in you, Miss Peaston. We are equally grateful to those in your home district that informed us of the plot. Geoff’s parents laid your plans out for the downfall of the Capitol out for us. Then the fools attacked the Peacekeepers to attempt to better arm themselves. The Petars have been rewarded with one of the unused Victor Houses and the items that you would have received. They will live in comfort for the remainder of their days. This is just as you will, in a sense.”

“Miss Peaston, you are sentenced to life as an unspeaking servant of the Capitol, an Avox. You shall be taken to the Medical Center for the procedure and then be conditioned for service. The process is extensive, and sometimes painful, but shall make you much more compliant.”

Fear floods through me at his words but I have no time to show it before he speaks to me again. He is not finished with me.

“We, the Capitol, need more tributes for the Hunger Games and so you shall assist us in this, Miss Peaston. You shall bear a child and that child, regardless of gender, shall become a tribute in the Games once he or she is old enough. You shall see your child automatically become a tribute, no real need for a reaping, and watch as he or she takes part in the Games. Perhaps that child shall live, perhaps that child will die, but you will bear witness nevertheless.”

“Please no…” I attempt to say between my sobs.

I am ignored as he rises and stalks out of the room. The men around me pull me out of the chair and take me to the operating chamber and I walk with them in silence, just as I will until the day that I die.

Hours later I wake, mute, and I stare up at the ceiling not bothering to fight against the straps that hold me down.

The odds had **NEVER** been in my favor!

Hours pass as I lay in bed, all choice in my life removed. I cannot even choose to die by starvation because a tube down my throat prevents this by supplying food or water. My only respite, or so I thought, was when doctors step into the room and take note of the fact that I am conscious. I short time later I am connected to a computer to start my “conditioning”.

As I lay undergoing the process my mind wanders through what my life will be. Some of what I see is terrifying and I understand what Snow said about it being painful as the future flies by.

I see a newborn child being hustled out of a room while I mutely try to scream. No chance is given for the child’s mother, me, to even hold it for a moment. Once again straps restrain me so there is no chance of pursuit. A face appears in the door a visitor arrives and I feel fear as I recognize Coriolanus Snow. He approaches the bed and looks down into my face before speaking.

“I told you that this was going to happen!”

I look up into his serpent like eyes and cringe as a forked tongue flicks out of his mouth to caress my quivering cheek. He smiles again and I watch as venom drips from fangs.

“The child is mine,” he hisses. “It was _my_ seed that you were impregnated with. The child is mine to watch grow and then die in the Games. Nothing that you can do will change the course of things to come!”

His tongue flicks out again to caress my cheek once more despite the fact that I have recoiled away as I am able to. The shock of the whole thing renders me unconscious and the last thing that I hear is his maniacal laughter.

My next sight comes to me as I sit restrained in a chair. A group of children capers about and thy all seem to look alike but my attention is drawn to a small girl who sits by herself to one side. None of the children speak to her but some can be heard talking about her.

“She is a _district_ kid! You cannot possibly want _her_ to play with us!” One boy says to another child who had wanted the girl to join them.

I watch as the girl sits alone though the entire play session with her face buried in her hands. She rises only when a woman, who I assumed was their teacher, calls to them. If I had expected kindness from this adult I was disappointed. The girl is roughly pushed aside to allow the others to enter the room before her. She lowers her head and takes the last place in line. She reaches the door just as the adult pulls it shut, barring her entrance. The girl does not waste time waiting for the door to admit her, there is obviously no point in it. She settles down onto the step to sit in a harsh rain that has started to fall, soaking her to the skin in minutes.

There is no doubt in my mind that I am seeing my daughter, she looks too much like I did as a child to deny it, and I want so much to comfort her, to take her into my arms and to tell her that she is loved. But I remember that we have not met since the day of her birth. I am a stranger to her just as Arniss had been to me. She would likely scream and run in fear if I tried to do so.

The child sits in the rain for what seems like hours, water drenching her and she stirs only when the door opens. She turns in time to be told to go home or the Peacekeepers will arrest her. The door slams shut again and the child rises to trudge off of the school ground in the downpour.

Somehow I follow her until she reaches a rundown shack that I recognize. It is the very shack that I had grown up in. She enters and immediately rushes to the table where food that looks very unappetizing waits. No one else seems to be present and the girl tends to her own needs until finally crawling into bed to cry herself to sleep.

In what seems to be the next day I see the girl again, this time she appears to be around twelve years old. She rises from bed, eats a meager breakfast, bathes and then dresses before leaving the hovel that appears to be in much worse shape than I remember. The child joins a growing line of people that are moving toward a common destination. With growing dread I begin to understand where the citizens are going. Without warning the signal that calls all to the Justice Building for the annual reaping sounds and I cringe.

“Do you understand what is going on here, Miss Peaston?”

Startled by the unexpected voice I whirl as much as I can to see Coriolanus Snow standing beside me. His cold blue eyes bore into mine and I feel his contempt like it is a knife being shoved into my body. He shows no compassion or sympathy as my anxiety begins to rise. I remember clearly his word about my child being immediately and automatically declared a tribute.

“You remember what I told you about this day, don’t you?” He almost snarls into my ear.

I am too beside myself to try to answer. My mind is totally consumed by dread of what is coming to even nod.

“Let us see what happens why don’t we,” he croons while chuckling with no feeling.

When the throng reaches the square I see the familiar arrangement of people with one notable exception. All of the eligible girls, save one, have joined the spectators. Only my daughter stands in the space allotted for eligible girls. She stands silently, her eyes straight ahead when Melli climbs the steps up onto the stage.

I hear the anthem and then watch all of the familiar scenes appear on the screens. Each of them shows me killing another tribute, sometimes from different angles. Then pictures flash onto the screens showing those dead tributes lying in the Capitol supplied box while wailing relatives and family friends stand viewing the bodies. The montage ends with President Snow making an announcement.

“May the odds be in everyone’s favor _but yours_!”

Bright tears shine on the face of my child and I also see what she does. The glass ball with the names of the girls is full but I can see, as she can that every slip of paper has the same name written on it in enormous letters.

“Well,” Melli begins as her eyes fix on the condemned child. “I imagine that picking the female tribute will be easy today. You do know that all of this is due to the actions of _your_ mother.”

Both the child and I watch as the thin fingers of Melli Searson reach down into the ball with the girl’s name in it. She pretends to search for a random slip and then finally draws one of the slips out. Then she looks directly at my daughter before speaking.

“Jessa Peaston!”

I start at the name but watch as my daughter, her hands clenched into fists, slowly walks forward to ascend onto the stage while Melli speaks again.

“Now dear, you shall pay for your mother’s disloyal actions!”

I gasp as I see the face of my child clearly for the first time because I am looking at myself at twelve!

Tears run down the child’s face and I want to leave where I am to comfort her but my limbs cannot move. I hear another name announced and see an indiscriminate boy, who looks familiar, almost saunter up to the stairs to go up onto the stage to take his place. He mutters something to the girl as he passes and whatever he said to her increases the flow of tears down her face. I am curious about his comment and Melli helps to satisfy my desire to know what he had said.

“What did you say, dear? I am certain that everyone would like to know! Don’t be shy!”

The boy steps smugly forward and then, after looking at the crying girl, speaks clearly and loudly.

“I told her that I hope that I get to be the one who kills her! Her mother killed my Uncle Geoff!”

Melli smiles at this and then stpes forward to put her hands lovingly onto his shoulders as the crowd cheers loudly at his comment. She bends down to deliver a kiss to the top of his head and then looks at my child.

“May the odds be that you die slowly and painfully!”

She puts her arms around the boy’s shoulders and the walks him into the building, sharing a laugh as they enter. Two Peacekeepers usher the girl roughly into the building and the doors close behind them.

“It is truly amazing how quickly the training to become tribute goes isn’t it, Miss Peaston! In just a short time she will be in the arena and be playing the Games.”  
I turn to Snow as he speaks and then back to see that something has changed.

A very familiar arena has appeared with one huge difference. There is no Cornucopia in the center of the circle. A single tribute stands in the center of the circle unarmed while the twenty three others waiting on their pads all hold swords.

I watch in horror as my child waits for what is coming. She turns on her pad as she searches vainly for a friendly or compassionate face. Tears run down her face as she finds none.

We wait helplessly as the countdown proceeds inexorably and then the gong sounds. She darts off of her space as the other tributes leave theirs. Wailing like victorious banshees the others converge on her with waving swords, each ignoring the other because all are looking forward to making this easy kill.

Of all of the things that I have known for certain of in my life I am the most certain now that very soon I shall watch my child, a child that I have never been able to hold and love, die horribly.

She manages to dodge the first sword that is swung at her and actually is able to disarm the boy with a well-aimed kick to his groin. He collapses to his knees and she seizes the sword that he had dropped.

A second swing of a weapon at her is blocked by her newly acquired weapon. She is giving good account of herself but I know that she cannot do as well for long.

I lurch forward against my restraints and a silent scream tries to escape me as a sword gouges a bloody line across her back. She cries out in pain and lashes out with her own sword. The boy who had managed to hit her collapses backwards with his head nearly severed. The body trips a girl as she lunges at my child and a sword swung by another boy ends her life. The momentary confusion allows my girl to get a bit of space. She works to get to a defendable position and is nearly there when a blade hamstrings her. The searing pain makes her cry out and then drop the sword that she holds.

She falls to her knees as another sword slashes across her abdomen, opening it. Tears flood my eyes as she clutches at the organs that begin to spill out and a bloodcurdling scream escapes her before blood erupts from her mouth.

This all ends abruptly as a boy, Geoff’s nephew, swings his sword at her exposed and defenseless neck. An instant later her severed head flies through the air and lands on the ground to roll upright while those tributes around her dead body laugh and slap each other on the back.

As I look on her open eyes blink and then her mouth moves as she speaks to me.

“You caused all of this, Mother! You made all of this happen!”

My own mouth opens and I scream loudly as I sit up in bed. A while later, after my screams cease and I look around at my surrounds and I come to understand that I am in my bed in the home that I had grown up in.

A steady rain is falling outside and, as I sit there, a drop of water strikes my face. A long mournful sound alerts me to the fact that I have very little time to take a bath and to get ready for the day.

It is the day of the annual reaping and I wonder if my name will be chosen and I hope and pray that my dreams do not come true.

May the odds be ever in my favor.

**_For once!_ **


End file.
